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short poem

three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
it was a tall young oysterman
quietly, with reverance, in awe
tell me
gone before us
sweet with fern and rose
so lost
it was the autumn of the year
be in me as the eternal moods
once this soft turf
sweet and strong
in their ragged regimentals
which i wish to remark
simply speaking

 



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