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death poem

from our hidden places
one by one, like leaves from a tree
there were three in the meadow by the brook
see i give myself to you
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
in their ragged regimentals
we break the glass whose sacred wine
when a deed is done for freedom
earth travails
i wonder where you live
above them all, looking down
and as we walked the grass was faintly stirred
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
the air is like a butterfly

 



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