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birthday poem

f4-lo ouvem-se sempre de
pássaros de encontro ao vento de abril
eu amo minha hora do vento e da luz
entre as montanhas eu vagueei
ao longo de um river-side
sobre o rio beckon a mim
trançado e tecido
homem frio stern
uma pena do aço
do assoalho ao teto
uma vez este turf macio
eu sou velho e cego
é frequentemente não assim?

 



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