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father poem

she might have known it in the earlier spring
see, from this counterfeit of him
up from the meadows rich with corn
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
it was many and many a year ago
three years ago today
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
when sea-winds pierced our solitudes
there was a time in former years
though love repine, and reason chafe
the hypocritic days

 



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