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when all my days
are nothing –
but a soothing breeze recalled
when memory has left
the only ones
remained of all

I loved
I loved completely
with life
til I was sore
who will tell the story best
of all the days

who will know
to worry –
for purpose yet undone
as those endeared
beside me lay –
and those resolved
to stone

will e’er my shadow
in places not so far –
or will my name
become a prayer
wherever lovers are

. . .