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baby shower poem

he's gone
see i give myself to you
i am a woman
the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
tell me less or tell me more
like eagles on up high
under a spreading chestnut tree
i go my way complacently
she knows a cheap release
grieve not for the invisible
listen to the sounding sea
i can not tell you now
this ancient silver bowl of mine

 



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