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narrative poetry

minha mãe ensinou-me que cada noite
de nossos lugares escondidos
de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
como ela
perguntam-me onde eu estive
escuro-eyed
eu não posso sempre sentir seu greatness
da canção e do sonho para ido sempre
um history muito notável isto é
talvez
cão do gingham e o gato do calico


 



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