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family poetry

thou unrelenting past
who loves the rain
she might have known it in the earlier spring
out of the window a sea of green trees
i saw the first pear
a storm is riding on the tide
when night drifts along the streets of the city
what do i owe to you
see, from this counterfeit of him
looking beyond
though i am little as all little things
and so it goes

 



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