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by
Eliot
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dread
Poems
Nov 29
Foreign
I breathe in her ashes, because she is as gone and more dispersed than yesterday,
the words I heard her say, were dreams, just fancies i esteemed, ultimately frivolous inklings,
to recant serves me no purpose, there is no pain, no hurt, just this, wistful sting,
heard a voice but once, and all i will have ever done is dreamt how she would sing.
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