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poetry poem

lived by the river-side
short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it
we lay
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
skies they were ashen and sober
as a naked man i go
he'd even have his joke
storm
i wonder where you live
the snow whispers about me
now while my lips are living
with the meek, brown eyes
all within and all without me
sleep, gray brother of death

 



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