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short poem

ame-me no último, ou se você não
o mestre de destinies humanos é mim
diga-me
há três maneiras em que os homens fazem exame
eu não pray para a paz
sol e vento e batida do mar
o doce com fern e levantou-se
os prayers brancos pequenos
é verdadeiro que você diz que os deuses lhe são mais uso do que fairies
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
com os olhos meek, marrons

 



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