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1667

I watcher her face to see which way
She took the awful news—
Whether she died before she heard
Or in protracted bruise
Remained a few slow years with us—
Each heavier than the last—
A further afternoon to fail,
As Flower at fall of Frost.

Edited by Peter Carter

Added: 2 Apr 2003 | Last Read: 7 Jun 2025 4:54 PM | Viewed: 7236 times

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