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funeral poem

os drowses pálidos do dia no ocidental embebem
porque
nós quebramos o vidro cujo vinho sacred
alguns dos hurts que você se curou
embora repine do amor, e chafe da razão
no porto de york novo
esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
dentro de minha mão eu prendo
todos quiet ao longo do potomac
este é o navio da pérola

 



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