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grandma poem

o oeste velho, o tempo velho
eu agito meu cabelo no vento da manhã
eu ando abaixo os trajetos do jardim
nas manhãs nuvem-cinzentas
têm você andar visto através da vila
short e doce, e nós viemos à extremidade dela
vivido pelo river-side
não há nenhum escape pelo rio
na terra silenciosa
não há nenhum rebanho, porém prestado atenção e tendido
vontade você glimmer no mar?

 



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