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romantic love poem

it tells of good old times
last night the full moon laid a cloth of white
the agony of having too much power
they ask me where i've been
we were not many
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
when, full of warm and eager love
the light withdrawn
let us pity those who are better off than we are
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
sleep, gray brother of death
renew the vision of delight
this ancient silver bowl of mine

 



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