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poem for pastors

meu filho está inoperante e eu sou cortina indo
aqueles olhos pretos i elogiado uma vez assim
uma sombra cinzenta fina na borda do pensamento
escute
quando, cheio do amor morno e ansioso
fala não bem
quem é o corredor nos céus
era muitas e muito um ano há
temos nós nenhum shame?
a chuva sobre, e o ar brilhante
rosas e ouro
agora quando meus bordos viverem
deus
meu sorrow, quando for aqui com mim

 



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