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thanksgiving poem

i saw him once before
the arches of the red bridge
under a spreading chestnut tree
now that i have cooled to you
over the river they beckon to me
there is a country full of wine
some of the hurts you have cured
but alas, just dreams
she burst fierce wine
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
days endeared to every muse
when, full of warm and eager love

 



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