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thanksgiving poetry

beautiful
i hold your heart
perhaps it is no matter that you died
sad are they who know not love
a bird sang
softly now the light of day
she heard the children playing in the sun
looking beyond
had he and i but met
with the meek, brown eyes
up from the south at break of day
days endeared to every muse
see i give myself to you
i have come into the desert because my soul is athirst

 



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