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grandmother poem

de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
desde que, se você estiver por meu lado hoje
todos tragam os anos
nós não éramos muitos
mas alas, sonhos justos
dê-me a fome
aqueles no superior dizem que o conhecem, terra -- são liars
era uma oysterman novo alto
têm você andar visto através da vila
o alvorecer era verde maçã
eu encho este copo

 



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