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son poem

a festa real foi feita
eu ando abaixo os trajetos do jardim
minha alma é um campo ploughed escuro
a luz retirada
eu vi as nuvens entre os montes
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
a algum os deuses gordos
olhe para trás com olhos longing e saiba que eu seguirei
têm você ouvido

 



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