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sorry poem

daughter, thou art come to die
she heard the children playing in the sun
the saddest of the year
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
beautiful, tragical faces
i am fevered
there's one that i once loved so much
little gate was reached at last
i hold your heart
is there anybody there
by the rude bridge

 



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