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sad love poem

ruídos que strive rasgar
eu amei uma mulher
era uma beleza nos dias
mas alas, sonhos justos
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
sono doce em suas sepulturas humble
uma névoa estava dirigindo para baixo
glooms dos viv-carvalhos
ido antes de nós
três anos há hoje
duas fileiras dos repolhos

 



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