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mother daughter poem

how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
i cannot always feel his greatness
the agony of having too much power
i love my life, but not too well
those black eyes i once so praised
the air is like a butterfly
as i lie roofed in, screened in
rising moon has hid the stars
at dawn, he said
under a spreading chestnut tree
when you come tonight
here falls no light

 



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