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thanksgiving poem

i go my way complacently
they threw a stone, you threw a stone
under dusky laurel leaf
the old songs
short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it
there are three ways in which men take
here lies a most beautiful lady
beautiful, tragical faces
i have come into the desert because my soul is athirst
i was a goddess ere the marble found me
now that i have cooled to you
long has the summer sunlight shone
when the hours of day are numbered

 



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