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son poem

she limps with halting painful pace
what shall we do now
wrap the earth in cloudy weather
to what shall a woman liken her beloved
i walk down the garden paths
softly now the light of day
do not grieve that it is over
it was many and many a year ago
therefore i may not
as it
my soul goes clad in gorgeous things
they ask me where i've been
my sorrow, when she's here with me
they may talk of love in a cottage

 



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