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son poem

prazeres mid e palácios embora nós podemos vaguear
embora repine do amor, e chafe da razão
não esteja irritado com mim
a algum os deuses gordos
a festa real foi feita
eu despise meus amigos mais do que você
entre as montanhas eu vagueei
não seja falso
noite misteriosa
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu

 



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