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thank you poem

i go my way complacently
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
i have to say good-night
perhaps it is no matter that you died
days endeared to every muse
brief on a flying night
in the sphere
did you ever hear of
night is dark, and the winter winds
desolate and lone
i can not tell you now
they in the darkness gather and ask
the darkness rolls upward

 



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