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suicide poem

how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
blossoms of babies
let me move slowly through the street
there are gains for all our losses
be not false
under a spreading chestnut tree
passing through huddled and ugly walls
pharaoh, king of egypt's land
uplifting, as the wind blew
tell me less or tell me more
see the tentative
i stand in the cold gray weather

 



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