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father poem

come le aquile sul high alto
faccio la mia protezione, ma nessuno sa
travails della terra
perchè così triste mio bello?
è spesso non così?
all'interno di questa tomba umile un conqueror si trova
la mia anima è un campo arato scuro
ha detto
i giorni endeared ad ogni MUSE
qui si trova una signora la più bella
faccialo rotare giù dal prato
hanno gettato una pietra, voi hanno gettato una pietra
che probabilità spiteful ruba i unawares

 



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