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sad poem

o oeste velho, o tempo velho
ao longo dos bancos
sentar-se em seu balancim que espera seu chá
pôde tê-lo sabido na mola mais adiantada
envolva a terra no tempo cloudy
era muitas e muito um ano há
tropeçando acima, caindo para baixo
sob a folha dusky do laurel
fala não bem
todo meu amor para meu doce
nenhuma rapina é mim de pensamentos pobres

 



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