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thanksgiving poem

quando liberdade de sua altura da montanha
uma tempestade está montando na maré
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
eu sobre-tinha preparado o evento
uma vez este turf macio
não permaneça não mais
tiveram e i mas encontrado com
dê-me
eu quero saber às vezes se for realmente verdadeiro
ido antes de nós
eu sou velho e cego
sobre o rio, no monte
a criança que jogou afastado a folha após a folha

 



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