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short love poem

esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
eu amo minha hora do vento e da luz
há uma cidade, builded por nenhuma măo
onde deva mim encontre-o
que possibilidade spiteful rouba unawares
frequentemente eu penso da cidade bonita
do assoalho ao teto
lá pela janela na casa velha
as estrelas caíram do heaven
um pęssego pequeno no pomar cresceu

 



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