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fall poem

raça elevado-carregada
o prado estava rastejando
escuro-eyed
três dias eu ouvi-os afligir-se quando eu coloco absolutamente
eu quero saber às vezes se for realmente verdadeiro
esta é a canção da juventude
pouca porta foi alcançada no último
vinho velho a beber
dentro de minha mão eu prendo
behold mim, em meus chiffon, gauze e ouropel
short e doce, e nós viemos à extremidade dela

 



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