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son poem

o prado estava rastejando
um céu que nunca soubesse o sol, a lua ou as estrelas
eu amei uma mulher
em setembro
da canção e do sonho para ido sempre
eu estive pelo casement aberto
a filha, arte do thou vem morrer
na meia-noite
aqueles no superior dizem que o conhecem, terra -- são liars
os drowses pálidos do dia no ocidental embebem
os navios estão encontrando-se na baía
veio fazer exame de me pela mão

 



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