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thanksgiving poem

there is an hour of peaceful rest
this is the song of youth
when the wind works against us in the dark
in new york harbor
your body's motion is like music
a very remarkable history this is
calm as that second summer
as i lie roofed in, screened in
as a naked man i go
the agony of having too much power
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
a mile behind
how shall i help to right the world that is going wrong
tell me less or tell me more

 



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