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gothic poetry

é ido
esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
eu ouvi o vento o dia inteiro
escuro-eyed
em e sobre
eu ganhei a raça
nenhuma rapina é mim de pensamentos pobres
minha alma é um campo ploughed escuro
quando os mar-ventos perfuraram nossos solitudes
o corpo pode confinar
deixe-nos plantar

 



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