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erotic poem

be patient, life, when love is at the gate
i fill this cup
he's gone
simply speaking
my son is dead and i am going blind
risen from the dead
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
quietly, with reverance, in awe
weak-winged is song
i think it just splendid
when, full of warm and eager love
i love my hour of wind and light
if i had known how narrow a prison is love

 



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