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minha alma é um campo ploughed escuro
a noite é escura, e os ventos do inverno
minha mãe ensinou-me que cada noite
travails da terra
a mulher faltou-me muito, como você se chama me, chamada
quem é o corredor nos céus
arched a inundação
quando as horas do dia forem numeradas
há uns ganhos para todas nossas perdas
o ar é como uma borboleta

 



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