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sad death poem

sweet with fern and rose
skies they were ashen and sober
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
day is done
a thin gray shadow on the edge of thought
do i like it
i loved a woman
to what shall a woman liken her beloved
and so it goes
in halls of sleep you wandered by
still her gray rocks tower above the sea
up and down he goes

 



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