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christmas poem

softly weeping
my son is dead and i am going blind
why do
out of the window a sea of green trees
night is dark, and the winter winds
through the broad earth's aching breast
gaily through the fields we danced
when the veil from the eyes is lifted
the single clenched fist lifted and ready
the hypocritic days
i think it just splendid
if i were very sure
there was a time in former years


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