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anniversary poetry

as evening falls
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
who loves the rain
sleep sweetly in your humble graves
it was a tall young oysterman
one by one, like leaves from a tree
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
she must go back, she said
white foam flower, red flame flower
tell me not
so fallen
no prey am i of poor thoughts
arched the flood

 



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