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gothic poetry

a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
where shall i find you
i am a woman
death's nobility again
have we no shame?
i go my way complacently
stir
but i cannot read you now
mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
when a deed is done for freedom
she heard the children playing in the sun
since i have felt the sense of death
i cannot always feel his greatness

 



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