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short poem

uma névoa estava dirigindo para baixo
o ar é como uma borboleta
um history muito notável isto é
meu sorrow, quando for aqui com mim
em algum lugar eu li um tale estranho, velho, oxidado
agite
eu amei uma mulher
flor branca da espuma, flor vermelha da flama
a escuridão rola para cima

 



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