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poem for pastors

porque o faça sempre carrinho que tirita lá
de nossos lugares escondidos
quando a noite drifts ao longo das ruas da cidade
abaixo de minha janela em uma rua da cidade
a filha, arte do thou vem morrer
vivido pelo river-side
os céus que eram ashen e sober
acima do sul na ruptura do dia
não esteja irritado com mim
você é bonito e desvanecido
conseqüentemente eu não posso
fora da janela um mar de árvores verdes
bonito
eighty anos passaram, e mais

 



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