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short poem

for truth, for love
i love my hour of wind and light
my son is dead and i am going blind
i am dying
woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me
perhaps
my sorrow, when she's here with me
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
softly now the light of day
they in the darkness gather and ask
a mile behind
happiness
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
days endeared to every muse

 



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