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concrete poetry

o céu
a noite era preta e drear
de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
eu ouvi-os na noite
um history muito notável isto é
embora eu sou pouco como todas as coisas pequenas
diga-me
a filha, arte do thou vem morrer
em possa
alguns dias mais ventosos
qual eu desejo observar
os céus que eram ashen e sober
caído assim
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte

 



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