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thanksgiving poetry

arched the flood
when i returned at sunset
god
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
tell me
why then, must we see?
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
glass-blower of time
the body may confine
looking beyond
be patient, life, when love is at the gate
she has a clear, wind-sheltered loveliness
wrap the earth in cloudy weather

 



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