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thanksgiving poetry

quand le voile des yeux est soulevé
en matins nuage-gris
et pain de breaketh pas plus
comme des aigles sur la haute haute
vous vous rappelez
le poing serré simple soulevé et préparent
quatre-vingts ans ont passé, et plus
oranges de plumaison nubian bleu-noires
foncé-eyed
avec les yeux doux et bruns

 



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