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good bye poem

often is it not so?
brother, i am fire
why are the things that have no death
there is an hour of peaceful rest
into the silent land
i have had one fear in my life
passing through huddled and ugly walls
i love my hour of wind and light
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
the earth keeps some vibration going
she must go back, she said
her face is fair and smooth and fine

 



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