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love poems

cidade que não é uma cidade
deixe-nos plantar
acima dos prados ricos com milho
minha mãe ensinou-me que cada noite
eu não posso dizê-lo agora
as canções velhas
eu encho este copo
escuro-eyed
se eu morrer, pense somente disto de mim
sono doce em suas sepulturas humble
um por um, como sae de uma árvore
eu amo as configurações melodious velhas

 



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