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autumn poetry

eu não posso sempre sentir seu greatness
de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
dentro de minha mão eu prendo
deixe-nos expressar nossas paixões mais baixas
moonlight profundo e macio
eu ando abaixo os trajetos do jardim
se o slayer vermelho pensar slays

 



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