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sad poetry

ame-me no último, ou se você não
minha mãe twines me as rosas molhadas com orvalho
escute
evidenciado no glimmer em seus olhos
splendor doce
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
até sua janela da câmara
tem por muito tempo a luz solar do verão brilhada
eliminar, esforçando-se vainly

 



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