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short poem

na meia-noite
a festa real foi feita
um pęssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
prazeres mid e palácios embora nós podemos vaguear
levantado dos mortos
a mulher faltou-me muito, como vocę se chama me, chamada
fora do mar sparkling
de encontro ŕ flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
f4-lo vęem sempre um jacaré

 



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