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My Dead
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My Dead

Hanford Lennox Gordon

Jul 20
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My Dead
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Last night in my feverish dreams I heard
A voice like the moan of an autumn sea,
Or the low, sad wail of a widowed bird,
And it said “My darling, come home to me.”

Then a hand was laid on my throbbing head 
As cold as clay, but it soothed my pain:
I wakened and knew from among the dead
My darling stood by my coach again.

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My Dead
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