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thanksgiving poetry

nobility da morte outra vez
algum queixou-se ao mestre
em seus regimentals ásperos
eu faço minha saia, mas ninguém sabe
sobre o rio, no monte
frequentemente eu penso da cidade bonita
há uns ganhos para todas nossas perdas
todos quiet ao longo do potomac
eu vi os archangels em minha maçã-árvore última noite

 



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