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prose poetry

minha mãe ensinou-me que cada noite
mas eu não posso lê-lo agora
estes sejam
pouco parque que eu passo completamente
o que nós fará agora
quem é o corredor nos céus
quando o vento trabalhar de encontro a nós na obscuridade
ainda seu cinza balança a torre acima do mar
minha alma vai clad em coisas gorgeous
teria mesmo seu gracejo
lá pela janela na casa velha

 



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