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teenage love poem

within my hand i hold
why are the things that have no death
take my bracelets
along the banks
there is a country full of wine
still her gray rocks tower above the sea
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
she might have known it in the earlier spring
glass-blower of time
she must go back, she said
if i should die, think only this of me

 



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