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sympathy poem

simplicity
often i think of the beautiful town
often is it not so?
though i am little as all little things
i had a dream and i awoke with it
into the silent land
gloom
the fragrance came
melancholy, blue it was
there by the window in the old house
in the sphere
with her hair flaying wildly
how like the stars are these white, nameless faces

 



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