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thanksgiving poem

peut-être ce n'est aucune matière que vous êtes morte
il y avait un temps en anciennes années
vous faites ne pas entendre
à ce qui une femme la comparera aimée
un orage monte sur la marée
pourquoi
il parle pas bien
vers l'arrière, tournez vers l'arrière
bas! 'tis par nuit de gala
nuit mystérieuse
le soleil et vent et battement de mer
tous apaisent le long du potomac

 



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