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funeral poem

gingham dog and the calico cat
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
why so sad my lovely one?
we break the glass whose sacred wine
in september
but alas, just dreams
no prey am i of poor thoughts
my mother taught me that every night
that strange companion came on shuffling feet
under the harvest moon
i expect you
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
have you heard
woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me

 



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