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mother poem

when i was broke in london
i expect you
still thirteen years
will you glimmer on the sea?
lady, your heart has turned to dust
i walk down the garden paths
skies they were ashen and sober
it was a tall young oysterman
stern cold man
woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me
there is no flock, however watched and tended
at dawn, he said

 



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