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short funny poem

do not grieve that it is over
i said
she heard the children playing in the sun
the agony of having too much power
i am dying
tell me less or tell me more
rising moon has hid the stars
though i am little as all little things
a look is but a ray
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
sun stepped down from his golden throne
the lightning flashed, and lifted
stir
love has been sung a thousand ways

 



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