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mom poem

săo idos os tręs, aquelas irmăs raras
em setembro
no alvorecer, disse
em sua barraca guardada
a lua levantando-se escondeu as estrelas
ao lado de um campo stricken
eu era um goddess ere o mármore me encontrou
f4-lo vęem sempre um jacaré
ouviu as crianças jogar no sol
sabe uma liberaçăo barata
entre as montanhas eu vagueei
jogaram uma pedra, vocę jogaram uma pedra
encontra-se aqui uma senhora a mais bonita

 



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