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poem for pastors

quando o vento trabalhar de encontro a nós na obscuridade
porque
lá pela janela na casa velha
abaixo de minha janela em uma rua da cidade
três dias eu ouvi-os afligir-se quando eu coloco absolutamente
há um que esse i amou uma vez assim muito
dentro de minha mão eu prendo
e pão do breaketh mais
a agonia de ter demasiado poder
o ar é como uma borboleta
em seus regimentals ásperos
eu não pray para a paz

 



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