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teacher poem

o oeste velho, o tempo velho
com seu cabelo que flaying descontroladamente
eu vim no deserto porque minha alma é athirst
como ele de quem espírito na chama do meio-dia
embora eu sou pouco como todas as coisas pequenas
eu penso d esplêndido justo
quando as horas do dia forem numeradas
em algum lugar eu li um tale estranho, velho, oxidado
nossos momentos agradáveis voam

 



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