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thanksgiving poetry

la mia anima un campo arato scuro
la figlia, l'arte di thou viene morire
le navi stanno trovandosi nella baia
ho avuto un sogno e mi sono svegliato con esso
una pesca piccola nel frutteto si sviluppata
la signora, il vostro cuore si girata verso polvere
fino alla sua finestra dell'alloggiamento
come io aiuti alla destra il mondo che sta andando male

 



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