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thanksgiving poem

i said, i have shut my heart
i am a woman
tell me less or tell me more
with lips blood red and heart of stone
little gate was reached at last
made up of loveliness alone
i am the wind that wavers
we break the glass whose sacred wine
in halls of sleep you wandered by
i love the old melodious lays
in may
gone before us
i saw god. do you doubt it?

 



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