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death poem

esse ano
pela costa, pelo mar
cidade que não é uma cidade
com alegria e maravilha
a o que uma mulher a comparará beloved
para vir assim logo a isto imaginou a obscuridade
o sol está acima
rode-me para baixo pelo prado
travails da terra
nas manhãs nuvem-cinzentas
a mulher faltou-me muito, como você se chama me, chamada
este é o navio da pérola
eu encho este copo

 



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