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death poem

serene da tarde e brilhante verdes
em todas as coisas não faladas de
amigo, cujo o sorriso veio ser
com os olhos meek, marrons
eu detestei-o
qual eu desejo observar
quem é o corredor nos céus
é verdadeiro que você diz que os deuses lhe são mais uso do que fairies
acima dos prados ricos com milho
têm você andar visto através da vila
de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
na terra silenciosa

 



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