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religious poem

dentro de minha mão eu prendo
quando eu era quebrou em Londres
eu agito meu cabelo no vento da manhã
deus
glooms dos viv-carvalhos
se ele
a fragrância veio
porque o faça sempre carrinho que tirita lá
havia três no prado pelo ribeiro
nós que estiveram
eliminar, esforçando-se vainly
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
sobre o rio, no monte

 



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