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poem for dad

têm você não ouvido
para eu era um conselheiro gaunt, grave
musing, entre o por do sol e a obscuridade
uma vez este turf macio
eu encho este copo
havia três no prado pelo ribeiro
no porto de york novo
as máscaras da noite estavam caindo rapidamente
o pitiful pequeno, desgastado, caras rir

 



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