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romantic poetry

de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
algum queixou-se ao mestre
desde que eu senti o sentido da morte
truely
eu tenho que dizer good-night
como como as estrelas é este o branco, as caras nameless
qual se mantem
paredes e enorme elevados
pôde tê-lo sabido na mola mais adiantada
eu não pray para a paz
é frequentemente não assim?
amigo, cujo o sorriso veio ser
sono doce em suas sepulturas humble
quando eu estive escutar, discreetly dumb

 



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