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thanksgiving poetry

se eu morrer, pense somente disto de mim
eu estou morrendo
eu quero saber às vezes se for realmente verdadeiro
o relâmpago piscou, e levantou
em setembro
no porto de york novo
com vermelho do sangue dos bordos e coração da pedra
alguns dos hurts que você se curou
sobre o rio, no monte
o mistério o mais escuro, o mais estranho
doubtless eu recordo ainda

 



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