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lost love poem

existir da cisne
agite
fraco-é voada a canção
como selvagem, como bruxa-como estranho que a vida deve ser
esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
não permaneça não mais
a noite era preta e drear
há um país completamente do vinho
rosas e ouro
gloom
vindo para baixo no alvorecer dos montes windless
deixe-nos plantar
em algum lugar eu li um tale estranho, velho, oxidado

 



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