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family poem

my mother twines me roses wet with dew
he'd even have his joke
rising moon has hid the stars
i am dying
her face is fair and smooth and fine
i am old and blind
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
she knows a cheap release
but i cannot read you now
are you awake?
when i go back to earth
gingham dog and the calico cat
the darkness

 



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