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baby poem

sentar-se em seu balancim que espera seu chá
eu vi-o uma vez antes
a festa real foi feita
o ar está cheio do alvorecer e da mola
melhore do que o granito
eu ganhei a raça
como ele de quem espírito na chama do meio-dia
quando liberdade de sua altura da montanha
uma palavra do vôo de aqui e lá
uma tempestade está montando na maré
disse
não esteja irritado com mim

 



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