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mother poem

i go my way complacently
over the river, on the hill
at dawn, he said
desolate and lone
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
though i am little as all little things
which keeps
i have heard that a certain princess
within my hand i hold
those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars
she knows a cheap release
some one complained to the master

 



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