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funny poem

uma névoa estava dirigindo para baixo
talvez
irmão, eu sou fogo
eu amo roubar por algum tempo afastado
traga-me a canção macia
seu cabelo bonito
sob a lua da colheita
em e sobre
travails da terra
uplifting, como o vento fundiu
não seja falso
duas fileiras dos repolhos
quando eu for para trás ligar à terra

 



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