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lost love poem

felicidade
acima dos prados ricos com milho
sono, irmão cinzento da morte
qual eu desejo observar
splendor doce
quando, cheio do amor morno e ansioso
embora eu sou pouco como todas as coisas pequenas
eighty anos passaram, e mais
sob a folha dusky do laurel
sombras voadas que varrem perto
na terra silenciosa
eu despise meus amigos mais do que você

 



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