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family poem

em setembro
quando os mar-ventos perfuraram nossos solitudes
eu vi as nuvens entre os montes
esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
eu não queimo nenhum incense
eu agito meu cabelo no vento da manhã
f4-lo ouvem-se sempre de
eu vi os archangels em minha maçã-árvore última noite
eighty anos passaram, e mais
uma milha atrás
agora que eu lhe esfriei
para eu era um conselheiro gaunt, grave

 



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