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father poem

cidade que não é uma cidade
eu faço minha saia, mas ninguém sabe
o ar é como uma borboleta
gloom
doubtless eu recordo ainda
era muitas e muito um ano há
vivido pelo river-side
o sol está acima
limps com parar o ritmo doloroso
fraco-é voada a canção
passagem através das paredes huddled e feias
como eu me encontro telhado dentro, selecionado dentro

 



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