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ERMITA IN THE RAIN
by Angela Manalang Gloria


It is not the rain that wanly
     Sobs its tale across the bay,
Not the sobs of lone acacias
     Trembling darkly in the gray,

Not the groans of harried breakers
     Flinging tatters on the shore,
But the phantom of your voice that
     Stays me dreaming at my door.

      

This poem is from POEMS (1940).

 

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