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grandmother poem

completamente dos rasgos
flor branca da espuma, flor vermelha da flama
algum queixou-se ao mestre
eu amo minha vida, mas não demasiado bem
sob a lua da colheita
todo meu amor para meu doce
como ela
brilha a última idade, o seguinte com esperança é visto
em sua barraca guardada
eu sou uma mulher
eu estou morrendo
e enquanto nós andamos a grama foi agitada fraca
disse

 



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