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teen poem

why are the things that have no death
risen from the dead
i love my hour of wind and light
dark-eyed
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
i said
be patient, life, when love is at the gate
who will be naming the wind
i love to steal awhile away
truely
over the river they beckon to me
still her gray rocks tower above the sea
i hold your heart

 



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