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math poem

nós não éramos muitos
ouviu as crianças jogar no sol
duas fileiras dos repolhos
uma névoa estava dirigindo para baixo
se o slayer vermelho pensar slays
fora do profundo e da obscuridade
eu sei o que você está indo dizer
serene da tarde e brilhante verdes
porque o faça sempre carrinho que tirita lá
esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
este é o navio da pérola

 



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