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death poem

o dia é feito
é frequentemente não assim?
eu não pray para a paz
dê-me
baixo! ' tis um a noite do gala
sua cara é justa e lisa e fina
um poeta, fazendo exame do breio fora de sua lingüeta
quietamente, com reverance, no awe
fora do profundo e da obscuridade
doce e forte
não do mundo largo do todo

 



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