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sorry poem

lá pela janela na casa velha
para vestir o pensamento impetuoso
ainda treze anos
e assim vai
é verdadeiro que você diz que os deuses lhe são mais uso do que fairies
a algum os deuses gordos
o sol pisou para baixo de seu throne dourado
para a verdade, para o amor
pela ponte rude
flores dos bebês
o ar é como uma borboleta

 



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