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poem for pastors

nós não éramos muitos
sob a lua da colheita
e meu nome é truthful
você está desobstruído
os dias melancólicos vieram
o que mim lhe devem
quando eu olhei em seus olhos
a neve sussurra sobre mim
quando o véu dos olhos for levantado
em todas as coisas não faladas de
com alegria e maravilha
este é o navio da pérola

 



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