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urdu poetry

there are gains for all our losses
i have cast the world
burly, dozing humble-bee
it was a tall young oysterman
birds against the april wind
full of tears
she was a beauty in the days
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
who will be naming the wind
sleep, gray brother of death
a life on the ocean wave
when i was a boy at college
i am dying

 



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