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haiku poem

seu cabelo bonito
não se aflija que sobre
eu não posso sempre sentir seu greatness
veja, desta moeda falsa dele
raça elevado-carregada
um céu que nunca soubesse o sol, a lua ou as estrelas
de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
eu agito meu cabelo no vento da manhã
o prado estava rastejando

 



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