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son poem

era o outono do ano
no recolhimento da escuridăo e pedem
teria mesmo seu gracejo
fala năo bem
eu ganhei a raça
sob uma árvore espalhando da castanha
algum queixou-se ao mestre
quando a noite drifts ao longo das ruas da cidade
nunca em toda minha vida
o doce com fern e levantou-se
diga-me mais menos ou diga-me mais
eu sou uma mulher
sono doce em suas sepulturas humble
tręs dias eu ouvi-os afligir-se quando eu coloco absolutamente

 



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