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brother poem

eu sou cansado de ser amargo e cansado de ser sábio
não gire sua cabeça
macia weeping
era muitas e muito um ano há
eu sei o que você está indo dizer
têm você não ouvido
uma névoa estava dirigindo para baixo
os corredores de mármore resounding longos
um gleam do ouro no gloom e no cinza
havia três no prado pelo ribeiro
nos salões do sono você vagueou perto
diga-me não

 



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