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let me be sad
there were three in the meadow by the brook
truely
we who stood
the arches of the red bridge
blossoms of babies
there was a strangeness on your lips
lo! 'tis a gala night
a mist was driving down
to come so soon to this imagined dark
we were not many
tell me less or tell me more
my son is dead and i am going blind

 



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