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baby poem

risen from the dead
when i go back to earth
softly weeping
all within and all without me
sleep sweetly in your humble graves
still her gray rocks tower above the sea
a thin gray shadow on the edge of thought
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
up and down he goes
to some the fat gods
in mournful numbers
i go my way complacently
three years ago today
and as we walked the grass was faintly stirred

 



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