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retirement poem

one sweetly solemn thought
wheel me down by the meadow
in the sphere
there were three in the meadow by the brook
the little white prayers
i love my life, but not too well
a sky that has never known sun, moon or stars
and so it goes
sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea
at midnight
stern cold man
in the cloud-gray mornings
gone are the three, those sisters rare

 



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