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thanksgiving poem

estoy parado en el tiempo gris frío
me pregunto a veces si es realmente verdad
mi amor verdadero de su almohadilla se levantó
usted recuerda
una sombra gris fina en el borde del pensamiento
ella oyó a niños el jugar en el sol
no me quemo ningún incienso
una tormenta está montando en la marea
hay cualquiera allí
sobre el río hacen señas a mí
dije, yo he cerrado mi corazón

 



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