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daughter poem

all quiet along the potomac
along the banks
i am dying
as i lie roofed in, screened in
this is the ship of pearl
over the river they beckon to me
he speaks not well
a flying word from here and there
still her gray rocks tower above the sea
like eagles on up high
see i give myself to you
from our hidden places
perhaps
before the solemn bronze saint

 



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