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family poem

the air is like a butterfly
out of the window a sea of green trees
stand here by my side
but i cannot read you now
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
i am dying
to what shall a woman liken her beloved
dark-eyed
if i should die, think only this of me
perhaps it is no matter that you died
this is the song of youth
we were not many

 



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