Youth of a soul

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Under the sweetest flower,
In the garden of bones,
A poor soul sleeps.

In the damp land, the tears dried up;
Sadness consumed its essence;
Time took her youth.
Its life was stolen from itself...

All that remains of your poor heart,
Now it is part of a dark and silent grave.
The poetic verses engraved on his headstone are erased,
But his memories remain capricious prose.

Vivências em EstrofesOnde histórias criam vida. Descubra agora