︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎
𝖲𝖾 𝗇ã𝗈 𝗏𝖾𝗆 𝖽𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗂𝖺,
𝗈 𝗌𝗎𝖿𝗈𝖼𝗈 𝗏𝖾𝗆 𝖽𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗂𝖺𝗌.

𝖠 á𝗀𝗎𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗍𝗂𝖽𝖺 𝖾𝗆 𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗈𝗌
𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝖿𝗈𝗀𝖺 𝗇𝖺 𝗇𝗈𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗎𝗋𝖺.

𝖠 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖿𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗂𝖽𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗎𝗋á𝗏𝖾𝗅,
𝗈𝗇𝖽𝖾 𝗇ã𝗈 𝗍𝖾𝗆 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗋,
𝗇𝖾𝗆 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝖾𝖽𝗂𝗋 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖺.

𝖠𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗆𝗈 𝖽𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗋
𝗇𝗈 𝗆𝖾𝗂𝗈 𝖽𝗈 𝗏𝖺𝗓𝗂𝗈.

𝖨𝗇𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖺𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝗈 𝖽𝗈𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗈𝗌
𝖼𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗌. 𝖤 𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝗎𝗆 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝖼𝗈, 𝗉𝗈𝗋
𝖿𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗋, 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾 𝗏𝗂𝗋 𝗆𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗅𝗏𝖺𝗋. ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎

𝖺𝖿𝗅𝗂𝖼‌ã𝗈 à 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗋𝖺-𝗆𝖺𝗋.
𝖻𝗒: 𝗐𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗌.
︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎