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poetry poem

nenhuma rapina é mim de pensamentos pobres
lá pela janela na casa velha
deixe-me mover-se lentamente através da rua
baixo! ' tis um a noite do gala
os dias melancólicos vieram
três anos há hoje
minha alma é um campo ploughed escuro
você é bonito e desvanecido
o prado estava rastejando
há uma cidade, builded por nenhuma mão
o único punho clenched levantado e apronta-se

 



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