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thanksgiving poetry

night was black and drear
i reside at table mountain
tripping up, falling down
little gate was reached at last
roses and gold
when the veil from the eyes is lifted
rose and amber was the sunset on the river
for truth, for love
tell me
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
give me
by the rude bridge
musing, between the sunset and the dark
made up of loveliness alone

 



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