Death bed confessions
Upon the death beds
Heard confessing
You were the one
Never in my possession
Though I carried you
All these years
Locked up deep inside
Where we'd abide
In your fine longhand cursive
Writing down the poetry
For only our eyes inside
Our confines
In my final dying
Take the words so secret
And scatter them liberally
About the wondering ones
Don't fear our uncovering
The words rhyme in a
Dialect foreign.
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