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sad death poem

do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
night is dark, and the winter winds
glooms of the live-oaks
skies they were ashen and sober
sun stepped down from his golden throne
a life on the ocean wave
my mother taught me that every night
i expect you
there are three ways in which men take
roses and gold
high walls and huge
happiness

 



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