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missing you poem

a flying word from here and there
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
the darkness rolls upward
the arches of the red bridge
often i think of the beautiful town
i cannot always feel his greatness
the single clenched fist lifted and ready
once this soft turf
now while my lips are living
in the dark and peace of my final bed
were it not for that singular smell

 



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