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teen poems

this ancient silver bowl of mine
grieve not for the invisible
dear wife
a flying word from here and there
one sweetly solemn thought
and still they walked on
just as my fingers on these keys
i am singing to you
along a river-side
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
your body's motion is like music
i think it just splendid
we lay
since i have felt the sense of death

 



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