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grandma poem

para eu era um conselheiro gaunt, grave
escute o mar soando
eu estou morrendo
não há nenhum escape pelo rio
há três maneiras em que os homens fazem exame
uma tempestade está montando na maré
vinho velho a beber
nĂŁo pendure nenhuma grinalda
eliminar, esforçando-se vainly
através do peito aching da terra larga

 



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