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thanksgiving poem

love me at last, or if you will not
she might have known it in the earlier spring
gingham dog and the calico cat
to clothe the fiery thought
were it not for that singular smell
i expect you
among the mountains i wandered
a little peach in the orchard grew
with the meek, brown eyes
are you awake?
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
pharaoh, king of egypt's land

 



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