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friendship poem

em seus braços estava o prazer imóvel
antes do saint de bronze solemn
embora eu sou pouco como todas as coisas pequenas
uma sombra cinzenta fina na borda do pensamento
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
havia um strangeness em seus bordos
entre as montanhas eu vagueei
o ar é como uma borboleta
tem um espaço livre, loveliness vento-protegido
sob a lua da colheita
é verdadeiro que você diz que os deuses lhe são mais uso do que fairies
nós quebramos o vidro cujo vinho sacred
a escuridão rola para cima

 



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