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caras bonitas, tragical
por muito tempo há, no moonlight novo
de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
faça os meninos e as meninas vão ainda
o cheiro do levantou-se assim falso, os espinhos assim verdadeiros
algum queixou-se ao mestre
quando você vier hoje à noite
uma sombra cinzenta fina na borda do pensamento
dentro de minha mão eu prendo
para estes braços brancos sobre minha garganta

 



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