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thanksgiving poetry

eu tenho que dizer good-night
em sua barraca guardada
macia weeping
perguntam-me onde eu estive
aqueles olhos pretos i elogiado uma vez assim
glass-blower do tempo
para vestir o pensamento impetuoso
eu moldei o mundo
tiveram e i mas encontrado com
não permaneça não mais
sobre o rio, no monte
do assoalho ao teto
o sol está acima

 



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