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son poem

minha alma é um campo ploughed escuro
travails da terra
sad são que sabem não o amor
há uns ganhos para todas nossas perdas
sobre o rio, no monte
eu fui acima e trago as ruas
como como as estrelas é este o branco, as caras nameless
eu faço minha saia, mas ninguém sabe
quietamente, com reverance, no awe
na esfera
eu vou minha maneira complacently
o prado estava rastejando

 



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