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baby poem

o prado estava rastejando
deve ir para trás, disse
a neve sussurra sobre mim
uma tempestade está montando na maré
sono doce em suas sepulturas humble
porque
o que era ele os motores ditos
era não para esse cheiro singular
eu vi-o uma vez antes
estes sejam
eu ouvi-me que uma determinada princesa
laranjas arrancando nubian azul-pretas

 



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