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lost love poem

city that is not a city
little park that i pass through
rocked in the cradle of the deep
the arches of the red bridge
stay no more
this is the arsenal
with the meek, brown eyes
when the veil from the eyes is lifted
rising moon has hid the stars
there is an hour of peaceful rest
soft as the bed in the earth
gone are the three, those sisters rare
had he and i but met

 



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