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teacher poem

e nse
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
a agonia de ter demasiado poder
através do peito aching da terra larga
alguns dos hurts que você se curou
uplifting, como o vento fundiu
eu estou no tempo cinzento frio
eu estou cantando-lhe
eu vi os archangels em minha maçã-árvore última noite
o que era ele os motores ditos
no porto de york novo
balançado no berço do profundo

 



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