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thanksgiving poetry

short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it
music i heard with you was more than music
as i lie roofed in, screened in
i have cast the world
it was a tall young oysterman
splendid and terrible your love
i saw the clouds among the hills
listen to the sounding sea
when the hours of day are numbered
quietly, with reverance, in awe
this is the song of youth
stern cold man
uplifting, as the wind blew

 



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