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child poetry

and how could you dream of meeting
do i like it
softly weeping
there were three in the meadow by the brook
with joy and wonder
night is dark, and the winter winds
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
i saw with open eyes
often i think of the beautiful town
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
i can not tell you now
he speaks not well
out of me unworthy and unknown


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