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mother poem

os corredores de mármore resounding longos
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
a terra mantem algum ir da vibração
veja, eles retornam
fora de mim unworthy e desconhecido
o movimento do seu corpo é como a música
baixo! ' tis um a noite do gala
o prado estava rastejando
eighty anos passaram, e mais
pela ponte rude
o cheiro do levantou-se assim falso, os espinhos assim verdadeiros
eu não pray para a paz
eu quero saber às vezes se for realmente verdadeiro

 



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