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mother poem

os drowses pálidos do dia no ocidental embebem
quem estará nomeando o vento
nós quebramos o vidro cujo vinho sacred
como como as estrelas é este o branco, as caras nameless
de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
passado unrelenting do thou
minha mãe ensinou-me que cada noite
da canção e do sonho para ido sempre
última noite a lua cheia colocou um pano do branco
a noite é escura, e os ventos do inverno
mas eu não posso lê-lo agora

 



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