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spanish poem

melancolia, azul era
nunca em toda minha vida
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
este é o arsenal
nós colocamos
uma névoa estava dirigindo para baixo
de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
eu sou cansado de ser amargo e cansado de ser sábio
minha alma vai clad em coisas gorgeous
existir da cisne
short e doce, e nós viemos à extremidade dela
a escuridão
eu amo minha vida, mas não demasiado bem

 



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