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fall poem

there was a strangeness on your lips
sleep, gray brother of death
days endeared to every muse
sweet and strong
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
the saddest of the year
which keeps
among the mountains i wandered
but alas, just dreams
pushing out, struggling vainly
we were not many
i go my way complacently
daughters of time
a few more windy days

 



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