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mother poem

wheel me down by the meadow
before the solemn bronze saint
listen
as a white candle
winged shadows sweeping by
i have heard them in the night
to the passionate lover
with lips blood red and heart of stone
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
a thin gray shadow on the edge of thought
i am dying
in the cloud-gray mornings
i had a dream and i awoke with it
woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me

 



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