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baby poem

uplifting, as the wind blew
it was the autumn of the year
wheel me down by the meadow
since i have felt the sense of death
will you glimmer on the sea?
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
i've won the race
for then without
daughter, thou art come to die
as i lie roofed in, screened in

 



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