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He who would never his name write
He who would never his name write
On this bouquet of flowers
Yet your face in his heart inscribed
Your exquisite stature in his eyes a tower
He who one day you will forgive yourself to forget
His memory from mind and heart you will let
And he will be far away
Like the sun at the end of the day
He who will sink into a minuscule oblivion
Never to appear in mind or in opinion
He who will cease to be
In the dearest heart of thee
And those who would walk behind his coffin
Will never tell the roads of love
His heart and soul toiled and trod
copy rights 2010
poem
by
Isaac Ziv
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