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acrostic poem

into the silent land
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
that strange companion came on shuffling feet
the ancient songs
which i wish to remark
musing, between the sunset and the dark
blossoms of babies
do not grieve that it is over
in mournful numbers
skies they were ashen and sober
why then, must we see?
my mother twines me roses wet with dew

 



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