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mom poem

três dias eu ouvi-os afligir-se quando eu coloco absolutamente
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
um olhar é mas um raio
o pitiful pequeno, desgastado, caras rir
faça os meninos e as meninas vão ainda
eu estou cantando-lhe
cidade que não é uma cidade
apenas como meus dedos nestas chaves
sua cara é justa e lisa e fina
se ele
que possibilidade spiteful rouba unawares
brilha a última idade, o seguinte com esperança é visto
no alvorecer, disse
mundo que muda sob minha mão

 



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