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thanksgiving poetry

la hija, arte del thou viene morir
para arropar el pensamiento ardiente
para estos brazos blancos sobre mi cuello
la noche era negra y drear
para la verdad, para el amor
en la tierra silenciosa
apenas ahora
ido antes de nosotros
hay un paĂ­s por completo del vino
cuando voy de nuevo a la tierra
vea el tentativo
hay aumentos para todas nuestras pérdidas

 



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