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child poem

it was the autumn of the year
i have cast the world
the snow whispers about me
why so sad my lovely one?
all day to watch the blue wave curl and break
if i were very sure
i reside at table mountain
when, full of warm and eager love
up from the meadows rich with corn
i make my shroud, but no one knows
the hypocritic days
under the harvest moon
i stood
dear wife

 



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