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spanish poem

e pão do breaketh mais
rode-me para baixo pelo prado
escute
laranjas arrancando nubian azul-pretas
eu estou morrendo
havia nunca um som ao lado da madeira mas de uma
era uma beleza nos dias
este é o arsenal
há qualquer um lá
as canções antigas
para poder ver cada lado de cada pergunta
melancolia, azul era

 



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