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happy birthday poem

porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
era não para esse cheiro singular
arched a inundação
a senhora, seu coração girou para a poeira
em e sobre
alguns dos hurts que você se curou
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
como ela
não seja falso
não há nenhum rebanho, porém prestado atenção e tendido
dentro de minha mão eu prendo
o justo e stately empregada doméstica, cujos olhos

 



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