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christmas poetry

eu faço minha saia, mas ninguém sabe
mundo que muda sob minha mão
como selvagem, como bruxa-como estranho que a vida deve ser
seu cabelo bonito
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
short e doce, e nós viemos à extremidade dela
os céus que eram ashen e sober
o oeste velho, o tempo velho
as estrelas caíram do heaven
todos quiet ao longo do potomac
por muito tempo há, no moonlight novo

 



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