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poem for pastors

agora quando meus bordos viverem
minha alma vai clad em coisas gorgeous
eu tive um medo em minha vida
pela ponte rude
frequentemente eu penso da cidade bonita
de encontro ŕ flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
porque
e enquanto nós andamos a grama foi agitada fraca
minha alma é um campo ploughed escuro
um gleam do ouro no gloom e no cinza

 



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