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father poem

softly weeping
at dawn, he said
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
the single clenched fist lifted and ready
when i was broke in london
lo! 'tis a gala night
i went up and down the streets
i was a goddess ere the marble found me
from our hidden places
i expect you
beneath the warrior's helm
my mother twines me roses wet with dew

 



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