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mother poem

limps com parar o ritmo doloroso
havia um strangeness em seus bordos
eu disse
assim perdido
os prayers brancos pequenos
embora eu sou pouco como todas as coisas pequenas
não gire sua cabeça
eu fiz um voto uma vez, um somente
behold mim, em meus chiffon, gauze e ouropel
quando vocĂŞ vier hoje Ă  noite
o sol está acima
os drowses pálidos do dia no ocidental embebem


 



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