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grandma poem

i am in love with high far-seeing places
there is no flock, however watched and tended
when i was broke in london
full of tears
have you heard
there is no escape by the river
within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
we break the glass whose sacred wine
along the banks
still thirteen years
but i cannot read you now
birds against the april wind
renew the vision of delight

 



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