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baby poem

lady, your heart has turned to dust
there is no escape by the river
and as we walked the grass was faintly stirred
for these white arms about my neck
i love my hour of wind and light
noises that strive to tear
i stand in the cold gray weather
stand here by my side
with her hair flaying wildly
gingham dog and the calico cat
there is no flock, however watched and tended
we break the glass whose sacred wine

 



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