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death poem

i love the old melodious lays
the dawn was apple-green
i cannot always feel his greatness
perhaps it is no matter that you died
over the rooftops race the shadows of clouds
roses and gold
i shall see a star tonight
beside a stricken field
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
take my bracelets
see the tentative
sweet splendor
lady, your heart has turned to dust

 



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