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son poem

o que nós fará agora
a noite é escura, e os ventos do inverno
quando as horas do dia forem numeradas
em todas as coisas não faladas de
jogaram uma pedra, você jogaram uma pedra
diz de épocas velhas boas
passagem através das paredes huddled e feias
como ele de quem espírito na chama do meio-dia

 



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