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thanksgiving poetry

abaixo de minha janela em uma rua da cidade
o sol está acima
sob uma árvore espalhando da castanha
como águias na elevaçăo ascendente
a terra mantem algum ir da vibraçăo
o corpo pode confinar
eu năo posso sempre sentir seu greatness
a agonia de ter demasiado poder
splendor doce
embora eu sou pouco como todas as coisas pequenas
vocę ouve a chuva?

 



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