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thanksgiving poetry

porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
em uma câmara velha iluminou-se macia
fora de mim unworthy e desconhecido
eu estou no tempo cinzento frio
o que era ele os motores ditos
gaily através dos campos nós dançamos
eu não posso dizê-lo agora
eu sou velho e cego
uma milha atrás

 



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