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sad death poem

i love my life, but not too well
sad are they who know not love
calm as that second summer
tell me less or tell me more
still thirteen years
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
through the broad earth's aching breast
i see all human wits
white foam flower, red flame flower
on and on
you are beautiful and faded
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room

 



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