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funeral poem

long ago, in the young moonlight
i love my life, but not too well
i saw him once before
awful truths these be
if i had known how narrow a prison is love
there are three ways in which men take
still thirteen years
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
in an old chamber softly lit
one with you
along the banks
the hypocritic days
my mother taught me that every night

 



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