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brother poem

friend, whose smile has come to be
old wine to drink
a mist was driving down
blossoms of babies
there by the window in the old house
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
in mournful numbers
there is an hour of peaceful rest
softly weeping
stern cold man
why do you always stand there shivering
city that is not a city
last midnight
the long resounding marble corridors

 



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