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baby poem

when freedom from her mountain height
there by the window in the old house
short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it
for truth, for love
one by one, like leaves from a tree
up from the south at break of day
see the tentative
splendid and terrible your love
within my hand i hold
dear wife
and how could you dream of meeting
i know not where
in halls of sleep you wandered by

 



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