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thanksgiving poem

had he and i but met
up from the south at break of day
into the silent land
melancholy, blue it was
blossoms of babies
the sky
do the boys and girls still go
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
why are the things that have no death
i made a vow once, one only
have you not heard
this is the ship of pearl
to some the fat gods

 



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