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thanksgiving poetry

white foam flower, red flame flower
i am dying
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
up and down he goes
my true love from her pillow rose
over the rooftops race the shadows of clouds
the saddest of the year
i despise my friends more than you
therefore i may not
night was black and drear
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
still thirteen years
all down the years
the sun is up

 



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