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epic poetry

uma névoa estava dirigindo para baixo
as canções velhas
não do mundo largo do todo
o alvorecer era verde maçã
e assim vai
apenas como meus dedos nestas chaves
amigo, cujo o sorriso veio ser
todos tragam os anos
esta é a canção da juventude
minha alma é um campo ploughed escuro
por muito tempo há, no moonlight novo

 



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