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narrative poetry

o cheiro do levantou-se assim falso, os espinhos assim verdadeiros
em números mournful
mil anos silenciosos há
passagem através das paredes huddled e feias
minha alma é um campo ploughed escuro
lá pela janela na casa velha
dentro de minha măo eu prendo
eu amei uma mulher
eu năo posso dizę-lo agora
os arcos da ponte vermelha

 



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