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Seashells
“
In June we picked the clover,
And sea-shells in July:
There was no silence at the door,
No word from the sky.
A hand came out of August
And flicked his life away:
We had not time to bargain, mope,
Moralize, or pray.
”
― Overtures to Death and Other Poems
― Overtures to Death and Other Poems
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