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african american poetry

mulher boa
levantado dos mortos
eu agito meu cabelo no vento da manhã
as máscaras da noite estavam caindo rapidamente
veja que eu me dou a você
é frequentemente não assim?
nós não éramos muitos
abaixo do helm do guerreiro
nobility da morte outra vez
cai aqui nenhuma luz
algum queixou-se ao mestre

 



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