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death poetry

night was black and drear
they in the darkness gather and ask
bring me soft song
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
braided and woven
a mile behind
night is dark, and the winter winds
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
let us pity those who are better off than we are
i made a vow once, one only
royal feast was done
there was never a sound beside the wood but one

 



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