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sad poem

f4-lo ouvem-se sempre de
nas manhãs nuvem-cinzentas
quando eu retornei no por do sol
em algum lugar eu li um tale estranho, velho, oxidado
como águias na elevação ascendente
mas alas, sonhos justos
a criança que jogou afastado a folha após a folha
e pão do breaketh mais
os arcos da ponte vermelha
ainda seu cinza balança a torre acima do mar
quando a noite drifts ao longo das ruas da cidade
eu ouvi-os na noite
os corredores de mármore resounding longos

 



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