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pastor appreciation poem

quietamente, com reverance, no awe
com seu cabelo que flaying descontroladamente
eu ando abaixo os trajetos do jardim
a algum os deuses gordos
sad são que sabem não o amor
você é bonito e desvanecido
cidade que não é uma cidade
behold mim, em meus chiffon, gauze e ouropel
minha alma é um campo ploughed escuro
ame-me no último, ou se você não
estes corações foram tecidos de alegrias e de cuidados humanos
de nossos lugares escondidos

 



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