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funeral poem

se eu for muito certo
há tręs maneiras em que os homens fazem exame
seu cabelo bonito
do sol nem das estrelas
era o outono do ano
sobre o rio, no monte
em sua barraca guardada
eu sou fevered
a fragrância veio
evidenciado no glimmer em seus olhos
eu vi os archangels em minha maçă-árvore última noite
năo do mundo largo do todo
eliminar, esforçando-se vainly

 



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