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daughter poem

still thirteen years
that year
i have heard them in the night
there is a city, builded by no hand
the child who threw away leaf after leaf
i am singing to you
there was a time in former years
with her hair flaying wildly
he speaks not well
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
stuff of the moon
risen from the dead

 



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