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friend poem

para eu era um conselheiro gaunt, grave
o sol pisou para baixo de seu throne dourado
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
veio fazer exame de me pela măo
vivido pelo river-side
uma névoa estava dirigindo para baixo
apenas agora
tem um espaço livre, loveliness vento-protegido
a noite é escura, e os ventos do inverno

 



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