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teen poem

quando eu for para trás ligar à terra
uma milha atrás
uma névoa estava dirigindo para baixo
a noite é escura, e os ventos do inverno
melhore do que o granito
são idos os três, aquelas irmãs raras
passado unrelenting do thou
as montanhas são povos silenciosos
serene da tarde e brilhante verdes

 



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