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Matthew Thomas Donovan


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My Promise, Unkept

Do you remember the fifth of November,
How it smiled and burnt out by noon?
How the children laughed as all midnight collapsed
On a perfect evening, too soon?
Or how cars and trains, struck quickly by rains,
Fell silent neath' light of the moon?
Perhaps nothing's so clear in your memory, my dear,
As the kiss I shared happily with you.
And if nothing's remembered the fifth of November,

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