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african american poetry

some of the hurts you have cured
like eagles on up high
had he and i but met
since, if you stood by my side today
when you come tonight
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
be not angry with me
and breaketh bread no more
daughter, thou art come to die
in the dark and peace of my final bed
perhaps it is no matter that you died
see, from this counterfeit of him

 



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