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i love you poem

i saw him once before
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
and how could you dream of meeting
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
i love my life, but not too well
eighty years have passed, and more
sadly speaking
there was a time in former years
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
i have come into the desert because my soul is athirst

 



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