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happy birthday poem

porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
não seja falso
mas alas, sonhos justos
pássaros de encontro ao vento de abril
o que nós fará agora
era não para esse cheiro singular
para poder ver cada lado de cada pergunta
quando eu retornei no por do sol
irmão, eu sou fogo
sadly falando
eu estou morrendo
as montanhas são povos silenciosos
quietamente, com reverance, no awe

 



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