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suicide poem

a mist was driving down
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
i am the wind that wavers
for then without
leave the lovely words unsaid
green afternoon serene and bright
to some the fat gods
in the cloud-gray mornings
there is no escape by the river
i heard the wind all day
the stars fell from heaven
night was black and drear
i love the old melodious lays
if i should die, think only this of me

 



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