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thanksgiving poem

a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
be patient, life, when love is at the gate
they in the darkness gather and ask
when i was broke in london
the ancient songs
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
roses and gold
the earth keeps some vibration going
let a joy keep you
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
perhaps it is no matter that you died

 



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