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mother daughter poem

beautiful, tragical faces
were it not for that singular smell
one by one, like leaves from a tree
from floor to ceiling
to be able to see every side of every question
all quiet along the potomac
be not false
what shall we do now
never in all my life
there is a city, builded by no hand
a mile behind
little gate was reached at last
often i think of the beautiful town

 



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