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fall poem

todo meu amor para meu doce
travails da terra
pouca porta foi alcançada no último
não do mundo largo do todo
diga-me não
dentro de minha mão eu prendo
eu despise meus amigos mais do que você
dê-me
no alvorecer, disse
eu sei não onde
até sua janela da câmara
o ar é como uma borboleta

 



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