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mom poem

at midnight
i love to steal awhile away
when i returned at sunset
i loved a woman
when a deed is done for freedom
before the solemn bronze saint
where shall i find you
i have to say good-night
doubtless i remember still
renew the vision of delight
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
up to her chamber window
why are the things that have no death
daughter, thou art come to die

 



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