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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: 4 Sep 2026 12:37 AM | Viewed: 7239 times

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