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thanksgiving poem

sopra il fiume beckon a me
e con l'uccello di ronzio
ed il mio nome è sincero
short e dolce ed abbiamo arrivato alla fine di esso
in settembre
molto bene, voi liberali
quando i mare-venti hanno perforato i nostri solitudes
perchè allora, il mosto noi vede?
perchè

 



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