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mother poem

homem frio stern
ao amante passionate
quando liberdade de sua altura da montanha
nenhuma rapina é mim de pensamentos pobres
sobre o rio, no monte
se o slayer vermelho pensar slays
três anos há hoje
e meu nome é truthful
com seu cabelo que flaying descontroladamente
esse companheiro estranho veio em baralhar os pés
a noite é escura, e os ventos do inverno

 



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