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A Marriage

 We met
 under a shower
of bird-notes.
Fifty years passed, love's moment in a world in servitude to time.
She was young; I kissed with my eyes closed and opened them on her wrinkles.
`Come,' said death, choosing her as his partner for the last dance, And she, who in life had done everything with a bird's grace, opened her bill now for the shedding of one sigh no heavier than a feather.

Poem by R S Thomas
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