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halloween poem

a noite é escura, e os ventos do inverno
existir da cisne
vindo para baixo no alvorecer dos montes windless
fala não bem
splendor doce
embora eu sou pouco como todas as coisas pequenas
com os olhos meek, marrons
esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
a criança que jogou afastado a folha após a folha

 



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