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son poem

minha măe ensinou-me que cada noite
tempestade
sob a lua da colheita
porque săo as coisas que năo tęm nenhuma morte
eu resido na montanha da tabela
era uma oysterman novo alto
de repente, fora das maneiras escuras e frondosas
o prado estava rastejando
eu fiz um voto uma vez, um somente
gloom
traga-me a cançăo macia
veio fazer exame de me pela măo

 



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