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father poem

out of the deep and the dark
i walk down the garden paths
the little white prayers
night is dark, and the winter winds
are you alive?
still her gray rocks tower above the sea
city that is not a city
and still they walked on
hang no wreath
have you not heard
tell me
you are beautiful and faded
i reside at table mountain
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead

 



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