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mom poem

within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
my true love from her pillow rose
gaily through the fields we danced
for these white arms about my neck
beneath the warrior's helm
shades of night were falling fast
the old west, the old time
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
once this soft turf
you are my companion
storm
when the veil from the eyes is lifted
so fallen
behold me, in my chiffon, gauze and tinsel

 



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