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funny poetry

receoso não mais, eu digo
acima dos prados ricos com milho
splendor doce
abaixo de minha janela em uma rua da cidade
não do mundo largo do todo
um olhar é mas um raio
uma tempestade está montando na maré
não gire sua cabeça
traga-me a canção macia
era muitas e muito um ano há
o sol pisou para baixo de seu throne dourado

 



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