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After the day the night was killed






The sun rose, kingly kind
Dead the night was
And unfortunate it was
It missed its own funeral
Its own occasion
This is the tragedy
The stories of the night
Never mind, we
we will miss it too
People condole
People leave
We just burn down.

I saw the lilacs and roses
Withered with hokum

The young blood
The no man's land
Their dead bodies had long gone
A long, long time gone
Their ghosts live
Every river bank.

All deceased
The day shrinks
The onslaught
I will write
the night’s obituary.



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1/2 1891

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2/2 1891