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poem for pastors

têm você andar visto através da vila
minha mãe ensinou-me que cada noite
nos salões do sono você vagueou perto
jogaram uma pedra, você jogaram uma pedra
flor branca da espuma, flor vermelha da flama
deve ir para trás, disse
simplesmente falando
receoso não mais, eu digo
os corredores de mármore resounding longos
você é meu companheiro
frequentemente eu penso da cidade bonita
eu sobre-tinha preparado o evento

 



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