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fall poetry

uma tempestade está montando na maré
têm você não ouvido
jogaram uma pedra, você jogaram uma pedra
sombras voadas que varrem perto
esteja em mim como os modos eternal
pensamentos através de minha cabeça
em algum lugar eu li um tale estranho, velho, oxidado
nas manhãs nuvem-cinzentas
o que era ele os motores ditos
existir da cisne
eu estou morrendo

 



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