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poems

minha mãe twines me as rosas molhadas com orvalho
eu sou fevered
uma névoa estava dirigindo para baixo
meu amor verdadeiro de seu descanso levantou-se
deixe-me ser sad
eu não posso dizê-lo agora
eu sou velho e cego
todo meu amor para meu doce
ame-me no último, ou se você não

 



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