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family poem

like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
awful truths these be
we who stood
my true love from her pillow rose
be patient, life, when love is at the gate
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
in mournful numbers
glass-blower of time
there is a city, builded by no hand
sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea
the air is full of dawn and spring

 



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