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poem for dad

minha alma é um campo ploughed escuro
desde que eu senti o sentido da morte
o dia é feito
havia três no prado pelo ribeiro
não do mundo largo do todo
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
poderíamos nós mas para saber
eu agito meu cabelo no vento da manhã
qual eu desejo observar
olhe para trás com olhos longing e saiba que eu seguirei
eu quero saber às vezes se for realmente verdadeiro
mas eu não posso lê-lo agora

 



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