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thanksgiving poem

i sometimes wonder if it's really true
at dawn, he said
as i lie roofed in, screened in
she might have known it in the earlier spring
we were not many
i had a dream and i awoke with it
her face is fair and smooth and fine
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
look out upon the stars, my love
long has the summer sunlight shone
night is dark, and the winter winds

 



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