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First Line: We sat in rows listening to your poems
Last Line: Bleating his lines.
Subject(s): Funerals; Poetry & Poets; Williams, William Carlos (1883-1963); Burials


We sat in rows listening to your poems
being read at your funeral. I heard them
as you would have read them. He's not
dead, he could never die, I said to myself.
This stuff's not for funerals,
whoever you are, reading from the pulpit
in a priest's garb. You are dead wrong,
the man still is with us,
bleating his lines.





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