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short love poem

no prey am i of poor thoughts
lived by the river-side
high-born race
storm
bring me soft song
death's nobility again
my son is dead and i am going blind
a storm is riding on the tide
give me
at dawn, he said
lady, your heart has turned to dust
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
some of the hurts you have cured
i wonder where you live

 



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