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love poetry chat

this ancient silver bowl of mine
there's one that i once loved so much
why so sad my lovely one?
how like the stars are these white, nameless faces
now that i have cooled to you
beneath my window in a city street
i am old and blind
grieve not for the invisible
the air is full of dawn and spring
their beautiful hair
there are gains for all our losses
often is it not so?

 



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