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family poem

i went up and down the streets
that year
in your arms was still delight
the darkness
gaily through the fields we danced
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
my mother taught me that every night
when i was broke in london
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
stay no more
if i should die, think only this of me
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray

 



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