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mother daughter poem

the ships are lying in the bay
this is the arsenal
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
master of human destinies am i
truely
bring me soft song
with her hair flaying wildly
by the rude bridge
in september
under the harvest moon
she has a clear, wind-sheltered loveliness
my mother taught me that every night
there was a strangeness on your lips

 



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