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(12 September 1907 – 3 September 1963 / Belfast)

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Epilogue

Rows of books around me stand,
Fence me in on either hand;
Through that forest of dead words
I would hunt the living birds -
So I write these lines for you
Who have felt the death-wish too,
All the wires are cut, my friends
Live beyond the severed ends.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003


Read poems about / on: death, hunting, friend

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