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thanksgiving poem

travails da terra
eu não pray para a paz
short e doce, e nós viemos à extremidade dela
esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
eu amo as configurações melodious velhas
o sol está acima
o sol pisou para baixo de seu throne dourado
e enquanto nós andamos a grama foi agitada fraca
mas eu não posso lê-lo agora
arched a inundação
com os olhos meek, marrons
doubtless eu recordo ainda


 



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