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brother poem

sun stepped down from his golden throne
still her gray rocks tower above the sea
he'd even have his joke
beneath my window in a city street
who will be naming the wind
daughter, thou art come to die
she must go back, she said
calm as that second summer
we who stood
which i wish to remark
in their ragged regimentals
softly now the light of day
my mother twines me roses wet with dew

 



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