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mom poem

um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
a chuva sobre, e o ar brilhante
a senhora, seu coração girou para a poeira
os dias endeared a cada MUSE
filhas do tempo
embora eu sou pouco como todas as coisas pequenas
nos salões do sono você vagueou perto
talvez
fora do profundo e da obscuridade
veja o tentative
em seus regimentals ásperos

 



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