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mom poem

aqueles no superior dizem que o conhecem, terra -- săo liars
eu agito meu cabelo no vento da manhă
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
nenhuma rapina é mim de pensamentos pobres
eighty anos passaram, e mais
eu năo posso dizę-lo agora
macia agora a luz do dia

 



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