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poetry for kid

my soul is a dark ploughed field
to the passionate lover
when a deed is done for freedom
love me at last, or if you will not
let us pity those who are better off than we are
hang no wreath
to be able to see every side of every question
the child who threw away leaf after leaf
in new york harbor
their beautiful hair
with lips blood red and heart of stone
i expect you
which keeps
why so sad my lovely one?

 



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