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child poetry

a filha, arte do thou vem morrer
em algum lugar eu li um tale estranho, velho, oxidado
paredes e enorme elevados
fora da janela um mar de árvores verdes
a música i ouvido com você era mais do que a música
um pensamento doce solemn
em todas as coisas não faladas de
não pendure nenhuma grinalda
teria mesmo seu gracejo
no porto de york novo

 



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