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black poetry

it was many and many a year ago
soft as the bed in the earth
i do not pray for peace
here lies a most beautiful lady
short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it
long ago, in the young moonlight
thou unrelenting past
wrap the earth in cloudy weather
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
gone are the three, those sisters rare
as i lie roofed in, screened in

 



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