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funeral poem

see, from this counterfeit of him
from floor to ceiling
shadows lay along broadway
eighty years have passed, and more
i have heard them in the night
i've won the race
be not angry with me
now that i have cooled to you
have you not heard
i walk down the garden paths
i can not tell you now
night is dark, and the winter winds
lady, your heart has turned to dust

 



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