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death poem

could we but know
let me be sad
it tells of good old times
she was a beauty in the days
with lips blood red and heart of stone
as a white candle
long ago, in the young moonlight
like eagles on up high
storm
those black eyes i once so praised
let us pity those who are better off than we are
be not angry with me
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
i loved a woman

 



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