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free love poetry

se eu morrer, pense somente disto de mim
rosas e ouro
o que mim lhe devem
é verdadeiro que você diz que os deuses lhe são mais uso do que fairies
sob a lua da colheita
pôde tê-lo sabido na mola mais adiantada
o corpo pode confinar
a criança que jogou afastado a folha após a folha
embora eu sou pouco como todas as coisas pequenas
eu ouvi-os na noite
levantado dos mortos
são idos os três, aquelas irmãs raras

 



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