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teacher poem

há uma cidade, builded por nenhuma mão
embora eu sou pouco como todas as coisas pequenas
minha mãe twines me as rosas molhadas com orvalho
e ainda andaram sobre
nós colocamos
eu penso d esplêndido justo
dentro desta sepultura humilde um conqueror encontra-se
receoso não mais, eu digo
até sua janela da câmara
minha alma vai clad em coisas gorgeous

 



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