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romantic poetry

flores dos bebês
eu ouvi-os na noite
os drowses pálidos do dia no ocidental embebem
teria mesmo seu gracejo
para eu era um conselheiro gaunt, grave
glass-blower do tempo
a escuridão rouba os formulários de todas as rainhas
eu sou uma mulher
diga-me mais menos ou diga-me mais
acima dos prados ricos com milho

 



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