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mom poem

seu cabelo bonito
a filha, arte do thou vem morrer
não pendure nenhuma grinalda
eu amo minha vida, mas não demasiado bem
onde deva mim encontre-o
é frequentemente não assim?
até sua janela da câmara
glooms dos viv-carvalhos
não do mundo largo do todo
era muitas e muito um ano há

 



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