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grandma poem

let a joy keep you
my sorrow, when she's here with me
we who stood
before the solemn bronze saint
as a white candle
perhaps it is no matter that you died
in the dark and peace of my final bed
i have known the silence of the stars and of the sea
there are three ways in which men take
over the river they beckon to me
it tells of good old times
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise

 



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