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thanksgiving poem

este é o navio da pérola
em seus regimentals ásperos
nossos momentos agradáveis voam
do assoalho ao teto
uma vez este turf macio
alguns dias mais ventosos
acima dos prados ricos com milho
abaixo de minha janela em uma rua da cidade
de repente, fora das maneiras escuras e frondosas
travails da terra
cidade que não é uma cidade
era o outono do ano

 



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