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mom poem

este é o arsenal
pouco parque que eu passo completamente
acima de e para baixo vai
sua cara é justa e lisa e fina
eu estou cantando-lhe
pensamentos através de minha cabeça
quando as horas do dia forem numeradas
e como poderia você sonho da reunião
todos quiet ao longo do potomac
abaixo do helm do guerreiro

 



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