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acrostic poem

sobre o rio beckon a mim
quando uma ação for feita para a liberdade
até sua janela da câmara
o alvorecer era verde maçã
para poder ver cada lado de cada pergunta
as canções velhas
no recolhimento da escuridão e pedem
traga-me a canção macia
as canções antigas
o ar é como uma borboleta
não seja falso
minha alma é um campo ploughed escuro
com o por do sol

 



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