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thanksgiving poetry

quando vado di nuovo a terra
una foschia stava guidando giù
glass-blower di tempo
o giusta e stately domestica, di cui occhi
dal ponticello rude
il sole ha fatto un passo giù dal suo throne dorato
avete camminare visto attraverso il villaggio
provato nel glimmer nei vostri occhi
riassunto su una notte di volo
sotto un albero di diffusione della castagna
nobility della morte ancora

 



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