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thanksgiving poem

while i stood listening, discreetly dumb
see i give myself to you
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
let a joy keep you
just now
do i like it
listen
were it not for that singular smell
over the river, on the hill
i go my way complacently
when a deed is done for freedom
pharaoh, king of egypt's land
in the sphere

 



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