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short poem

os arcos da ponte vermelha
em seus regimentals ásperos
agora para uma luta viva e cheerful
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
de repente, fora das maneiras escuras e frondosas
embora eu sou pouco como todas as coisas pequenas
evidenciado no glimmer em seus olhos
quando as horas do dia forem numeradas
para poder ver cada lado de cada pergunta

 



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