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death poem

minha alma é um campo ploughed escuro
eu disse
eu espero-o
flores dos bebês
não se aflija que sobre
eu detestei-o
esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
eu prendo seu coração
o que mim lhe devem
este é o navio da pérola
encontra-se aqui uma senhora a mais bonita
mas eu não posso lê-lo agora

 



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