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love poetry chat

flores dos bebês
entre as montanhas eu vagueei
um poeta, fazendo exame do breio fora de sua lingüeta
brilha a última idade, o seguinte com esperança é visto
havia nunca um som ao lado da madeira mas de uma
nós colocamos
ainda seu cinza balança a torre acima do mar
eu não queimo nenhum incense
é verdadeiro que você diz que os deuses lhe são mais uso do que fairies
abaixo do helm do guerreiro
eu sei não onde

 



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