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mother poem

in halls of sleep you wandered by
better than granite
when you come tonight
a little peach in the orchard grew
all my love for my sweet
my sorrow, when she's here with me
little gate was reached at last
do you remember
into the silent land
i am the wind that wavers
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
these be
i had over-prepared the event

 



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