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teen poem

eu vi os archangels em minha maçă-árvore última noite
a filha, arte do thou vem morrer
felicidade
vocę pensa, meu menino, quando eu enrolo meus braços em vocę
embora eu sou pouco como todas as coisas pequenas
teria mesmo seu gracejo
como ele de quem espírito na chama do meio-dia
eu faço minha saia, mas ninguém sabe
em e sobre
eu estou morrendo

 



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