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anniversary poetry

up to her chamber window
leave the lovely words unsaid
my son is dead and i am going blind
little park that i pass through
i have heard that a certain princess
they ask me where i've been
within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
the hypocritic days
my soul goes clad in gorgeous things
wheel me down by the meadow
it was the autumn of the year
i go my way complacently
happiness

 



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