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baby shower poem

she limps with halting painful pace
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
which keeps
sad are they who know not love
for these white arms about my neck
one by one, like leaves from a tree
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
behold me, in my chiffon, gauze and tinsel
when night drifts along the streets of the city

 



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