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death poetry

friend, whose smile has come to be
storm
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
i wonder where you live
the swan existing
see, they return
desolate and lone
risen from the dead
this is the song of youth
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
in and of itself
the arches of the red bridge

 



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