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teen poetry

seu cabelo bonito
os dias melancólicos vieram
de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
uma palavra do vôo de aqui e lá
eu amo minha hora do vento e da luz
eu espero-o
eu vou minha maneira complacently
a festa real foi feita
abaixo do helm do guerreiro
pôde tê-lo sabido na mola mais adiantada
deixe-me ser sad
para eu era um conselheiro gaunt, grave

 



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