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sad love poem

and my name is truthful
up from the south at break of day
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
be not angry with me
what spiteful chance steals unawares
shades of night were falling fast
sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea
why so sad my lovely one?
before the solemn bronze saint
up and down he goes
no prey am i of poor thoughts
tell me not
when i returned at sunset
one sweetly solemn thought

 



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