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sad love poem

and breaketh bread no more
lady, your heart has turned to dust
this ancient silver bowl of mine
a mist was driving down
three years ago today
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
very well, you liberals
i stand in the cold gray weather
have we no shame?
sadly speaking
a look is but a ray
still thirteen years
i made a vow once, one only

 



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