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death poem

i said, i have shut my heart
softly weeping
up to her chamber window
wheel me down by the meadow
do i like it
in september
to clothe the fiery thought
like eagles on up high
here falls no light
stir
in halls of sleep you wandered by
all down the years
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
all day to watch the blue wave curl and break

 



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