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poem for dad

eu penso d esplêndido justo
travails da terra
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
este é o navio da pérola
era o outono do ano
como uma vela branca
eu resido na montanha da tabela
no recolhimento da escuridão e pedem
cante-o outra vez à canção cantado
caras bonitas, tragical
como deva mim ajude à direita ao mundo que está indo erradamente
frequentemente eu penso da cidade bonita

 



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