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romantic poetry

minha alma é um campo ploughed escuro
meu filho está inoperante e eu sou cortina indo
pela costa, pelo mar
trançado e tecido
há uma hora do descanso calmo
travails da terra
com o por do sol
abaixo do helm do guerreiro
escute o mar soando
acima dos prados ricos com milho
o que mim lhe devem
eu penso d esplêndido justo

 



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