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thanksgiving poem

era não para esse cheiro singular
eu faço minha saia, mas ninguém sabe
são idos os três, aquelas irmãs raras
esta é a canção da juventude
a fragrância veio
pensamentos através de minha cabeça
última noite a lua cheia colocou um pano do branco
se o slayer vermelho pensar slays
quando eu era quebrou em Londres
para então without
sob a folha dusky do laurel
agora que eu lhe esfriei

 



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