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poem for dad

agite
não esteja irritado com mim
acima dos prados ricos com milho
última meia-noite
nós quebramos o vidro cujo vinho sacred
rode-me para baixo pelo prado
velas que toppling lateralmente em umas latas do tomate
quando o vento trabalhar de encontro a nós na obscuridade
eu amo as configurações melodious velhas
pharaoh, rei da terra de Egipto
a escuridão

 



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