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father poem

woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me
let us pity those who are better off than we are
the air is like a butterfly
when i returned at sunset
you are my companion
when freedom from her mountain height
but i cannot read you now
a pen of steel
her face is fair and smooth and fine
for truth, for love
the sun is up
the lightning flashed, and lifted
once this soft turf

 



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