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thanksgiving poem

foncé-eyed
je descends les chemins de jardin
quand les heures du jour sont numérotées
environ porté plainte au maître
ce qui nous fera maintenant
ne vous affligez pas qu'elle plus de
et ils marchaient toujours dessus
donnez-moi
la lumičre retirée
au-dessus d'elles toutes, regardant vers le bas

 



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