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broken heart poem

daughter, thou art come to die
where shall i find you
i am a woman
though i am little as all little things
are you awake?
never in all my life
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
dear wife
while i stood listening, discreetly dumb
to clothe the fiery thought
i reside at table mountain
wrap the earth in cloudy weather
there was a time in former years

 



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