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missing you poem

perhaps it is no matter that you died
up from the meadows rich with corn
you are my companion
days endeared to every muse
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
he speaks not well
old wine to drink
a sky that has never known sun, moon or stars
i've won the race
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
the darkness rolls upward
will you glimmer on the sea?
why so sad my lovely one?
the child who threw away leaf after leaf

 



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