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lost love poem

sadly speaking
some one complained to the master
grieve not for the invisible
there were three in the meadow by the brook
hang no wreath
up from the meadows rich with corn
she burst fierce wine
some of the hurts you have cured
up to her chamber window
there by the window in the old house
sweet splendor
i expect you
a sky that has never known sun, moon or stars
she said

 



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