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sad poem

noises that strive to tear
glass-blower of time
i am a woman
blossoms of babies
she was a beauty in the days
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
this ancient silver bowl of mine
in all things not spoken of
the darkness
out of the deep and the dark
those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars
love me at last, or if you will not
no prey am i of poor thoughts
above them all, looking down

 



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