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love friendship poem

city that is not a city
when, full of warm and eager love
splendid and terrible your love
i make my shroud, but no one knows
when freedom from her mountain height
in your flight
with her hair flaying wildly
softly weeping
the meadow was creeping
here lies a most beautiful lady
i am dying
death's nobility again
there by the window in the old house
to be able to see every side of every question

 



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