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retirement poem

how shall i help to right the world that is going wrong
the air is full of dawn and spring
melancholy days have come
in mournful numbers
with joy and wonder
what do i owe to you
just as my fingers on these keys
the long resounding marble corridors
perhaps it is no matter that you died
grieve not for the invisible
there is a country full of wine
who loves the rain
while i stood listening, discreetly dumb
i loved a woman

 



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