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thanksgiving poem

ottanta anni hanno passato e più
ultima mezzanotte
e così va
serene di pomeriggio e luminoso verdi
nei loro regimentals ragged
glooms delle viv-quercie
nel gather di nerezza e chiedono
il bambino che ha gettato via il foglio dopo il foglio
la mia madre twines me rose bagnate con rugiada
della l'oscurità e pace nel mia base finale
esistere dello swan

 



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