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broken heart poem

filhas do tempo
o que nós fará agora
de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
tropeçando acima, caindo para baixo
burly, humble-abelha aplanar
havia um strangeness em seus bordos
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
o pitiful pequeno, desgastado, caras rir
material da lua
sono, irmão cinzento da morte
e assim vai
eu sou velho e cego
eu sou fevered

 



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