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thanksgiving poetry

do sol nem das estrelas
são idos os três, aquelas irmãs raras
f4-lo vêem sempre um jacaré
uma pena do aço
os dias melancólicos vieram
uma sombra cinzenta fina na borda do pensamento
você é bonito e desvanecido
para então without
fora do mar sparkling
sombras voadas que varrem perto
eu estive

 



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