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thanksgiving poetry

il était un jeune oysterman grand
avec la joie et la merveille
les chansons antiques
si je meurs, pensez seulement ceci à moi
hors du profond et de l'obscurité
simplement parlant
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
affligez-vous pas pour l'invisible
il n'y a aucune évasion par le fleuve
tressé et tissé
pourquoi faites-vous toujours stand tremblant là

 



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