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thanksgiving poetry

i had a dream and i awoke with it
under the harvest moon
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
your body's motion is like music
he speaks not well
as a white candle
sleep, gray brother of death
within my hand i hold
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
dark-eyed
softly now the light of day
suddenly, out of dark and leafy ways

 



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