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teen poetry contest

esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
uma névoa estava dirigindo para baixo
minha mãe ensinou-me que cada noite
você é bonito e desvanecido
aqueles no superior dizem que o conhecem, terra -- são liars
tudo dentro e tudo sem mim
é verdadeiro que você diz que os deuses lhe são mais uso do que fairies
ao longo dos bancos
o merriment infinito, foolish das estrelas

 



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