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poetry poem

moonlight deep and tender
love me at last, or if you will not
let a joy keep you
the sun is up
i love to steal awhile away
the arches of the red bridge
gaily through the fields we danced
perhaps it is no matter that you died
how like the stars are these white, nameless faces
some of the hurts you have cured
as i lie roofed in, screened in

 



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