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footprint poem

muffled drum's sad roll has beat
rocked in the cradle of the deep
look back with longing eyes and know that i will follow
arched the flood
pushing out, struggling vainly
i had over-prepared the event
by the rude bridge
birds against the april wind
good woman
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
and my name is truthful
in mournful numbers

 



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