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daughter poem

see, they return
love has been sung a thousand ways
i make my shroud, but no one knows
the saddest of the year
three years ago today
two rows of cabbages
while i stood listening, discreetly dumb
look out upon the stars, my love
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
we break the glass whose sacred wine
with lips blood red and heart of stone
as a white candle

 



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