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birthday poem

how shall i help to right the world that is going wrong
weak-winged is song
all within and all without me
dark-eyed
in the dark and peace of my final bed
what shall we do now
i am singing to you
i said, i have shut my heart
under the harvest moon
little park that i pass through
world that changes under my hand
it tells of good old times
take my bracelets
with her hair flaying wildly

 



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