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thanksgiving poetry

de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
as canções velhas
sua cara é justa e lisa e fina
melancolia, azul era
arched a inundação
nós não éramos muitos
duas fileiras dos repolhos
ruídos que strive rasgar
é verdadeiro que você diz que os deuses lhe são mais uso do que fairies
quem estará nomeando o vento
f4-lo ouvem-se sempre de

 



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