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thanksgiving poetry

como uma vela branca
ouviu as crianças jogar no sol
as montanhas são povos silenciosos
para a verdade, para o amor
até sua janela da câmara
quando eu for para trás ligar à terra
caído assim
têm você não ouvido
eu olhei em cima do céu glorious
o doce com fern e levantou-se
e pão do breaketh mais
têm você andar visto através da vila

 



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