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grandmother poem

o oeste velho, o tempo velho
o que mim lhe devem
o justo e stately empregada doméstica, cujos olhos
com seu cabelo que flaying descontroladamente
diga-me mais menos ou diga-me mais
para estes braços brancos sobre minha garganta
para trás, gire para trás
agora quando meus bordos viverem
baixo! ' tis um a noite do gala
o mestre de destinies humanos é mim
é ido
há uma hora do descanso calmo

 



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