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thanksgiving poem

eu faço minha saia, mas ninguém sabe
a noite era preta e drear
sob uma árvore espalhando da castanha
eu prendo seu coração
o dia é feito
um gleam do ouro no gloom e no cinza
eu não queimo nenhum incense
o sol pisou para baixo de seu throne dourado
entre as montanhas eu vagueei

 



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