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math poem

i heard the wind all day
though i am little as all little things
what spiteful chance steals unawares
these be
brother, i am fire
as i lie roofed in, screened in
have we no shame?
perhaps it is no matter that you died
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
daughter, thou art come to die
babylon-where i go dreaming
i loathed you
i sometimes wonder if it's really true

 



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