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christian poem

o dia é feito
esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
o mais saddest do ano
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
como deva mim ajude à direita ao mundo que está indo erradamente
quando eu for para trás ligar à terra
eu ganhei a raça
têm você andar visto através da vila

 



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