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funeral poem

como uma vela branca
na meia-noite
era não para esse cheiro singular
frequentemente eu penso da cidade bonita
sad são que sabem não o amor
noite misteriosa
havia nunca um som ao lado da madeira mas de uma
era uma oysterman novo alto
sobre o rio beckon a mim
eu vi a primeira pera
levantado dos mortos
abaixo do helm do guerreiro
eu não posso dizê-lo agora

 



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