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memorial poem

my son is dead and i am going blind
since i have felt the sense of death
my soul is a dark ploughed field
he came and took me by the hand
our pleasant moments fly
i have heard them in the night
do i like it
now while my lips are living
out of the window a sea of green trees
lived by the river-side
death's nobility again
all those treasures that lie
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
there's one that i once loved so much

 



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