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sympathy poem

assim perdido
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
olhar além
eu não pray para a paz
sobre o rio beckon a mim
a senhora, seu coração girou para a poeira
glass-blower do tempo
deixe-nos plantar
havia um strangeness em seus bordos
agora quando meus bordos viverem
a neve sussurra sobre mim
receoso não mais, eu digo
com vermelho do sangue dos bordos e coração da pedra
do sol nem das estrelas

 



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