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suicide poetry

the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
i cannot always feel his greatness
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
i saw with open eyes
two rows of cabbages
bring me soft song
thoughts through my head
one by one, like leaves from a tree
full of tears
she said
truely
still her gray rocks tower above the sea
when the wind works against us in the dark
could we but know

 



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