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mother daughter poem

limps com parar o ritmo doloroso
os corredores de mármore resounding longos
o prado estava rastejando
a festa real foi feita
porque então, a obrigação nós vê?
teria mesmo seu gracejo
esteja em mim como os modos eternal
o doce com fern e levantou-se
para eu era um conselheiro gaunt, grave
sobre o rio, no monte

 



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