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type of poetry

sob a lua da colheita
sad são que sabem não o amor
levantado dos mortos
se ele
a escuridão rola para cima
eu quero saber às vezes se for realmente verdadeiro
e pão do breaketh mais
havia um strangeness em seus bordos
mas alas, sonhos justos
como águias na elevação ascendente
quando as horas do dia forem numeradas
caído assim

 



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