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thanksgiving poem

hang no wreath
within my hand i hold
glass-blower of time
why so sad my lovely one?
a mile behind
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
they threw a stone, you threw a stone
music i heard with you was more than music
earth travails
looking beyond
along a river-side
her face is fair and smooth and fine
my true love from her pillow rose
i love my life, but not too well

 



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