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pumpkin poem

acima dos prados ricos com milho
você pensa, meu menino, quando eu enrolo meus braços em você
a chuva sobre, e o ar brilhante
as verdades terríveis estes sejam
musing, entre o por do sol e a obscuridade
e como poderia você sonho da reunião
quando eu era quebrou em Londres
os céus que eram ashen e sober
se eu for muito certo

 



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