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thanksgiving poem

a little peach in the orchard grew
when i looked into your eyes
like eagles on up high
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
give me
i have seen the proudest stars
stay no more
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
as a naked man i go
for these white arms about my neck
rocked in the cradle of the deep
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies

 



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