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poem for pastors

i heard the wind all day
do not turn your head
one by one, like leaves from a tree
i am fevered
within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
my sorrow, when she's here with me
why do you always stand there shivering
look back with longing eyes and know that i will follow
sweet and strong
woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me
why then, must we see?
the old west, the old time
i am dying

 



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