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mother daughter poem

birds against the april wind
lo! 'tis a gala night
glooms of the live-oaks
while i stood listening, discreetly dumb
come down at dawn from windless hills
wheel me down by the meadow
happiness
the swan existing
you say you love me
bring me soft song
within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
do not grieve that it is over
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
i loved a woman

 



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