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sad poem

dê-me a fome
o oeste velho, o tempo velho
ouviu as crianças jogar no sol
a lua levantando-se escondeu as estrelas
deixe-nos expressar nossas paixões mais baixas
minha alma é um campo ploughed escuro
eu sou o vento que wavers
três anos há hoje
e com o pássaro humming
temos nós nenhum shame?

 



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