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thanksgiving poem

alguns dias mais ventosos
minha alma é um campo ploughed escuro
como selvagem, como bruxa-como estranho que a vida deve ser
e păo do breaketh mais
aqueles olhos pretos i elogiado uma vez assim
eu amo minha hora do vento e da luz
brilha a última idade, o seguinte com esperança é visto
macio como a cama na terra
se eu for muito certo
há uma hora do descanso calmo
eu ouvi-os na noite

 



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