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mom poem

eu estou cantando-lhe
o que era ele os motores ditos
de encontro ŕ flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
jogaram uma pedra, vocę jogaram uma pedra
as máscaras da noite estavam caindo rapidamente
sobre os rooftops compita as sombras das nuvens
em algum lugar eu li um tale estranho, velho, oxidado
eu năo queimo nenhum incense
minha măe ensinou-me que cada noite
era năo para esse cheiro singular
com os olhos meek, marrons

 



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