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birthday poem

the air is like a butterfly
i am old and blind
within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
i loathed you
though love repine, and reason chafe
the old west, the old time
in new york harbor
love me at last, or if you will not
there is no flock, however watched and tended
stern cold man
i shall see a star tonight
blossoms of babies
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
calm as that second summer

 



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