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sad poetry

irmão, eu sou fogo
o ar é como uma borboleta
este é o arsenal
trançado e tecido
não do mundo largo do todo
a neve sussurra sobre mim
em algum lugar eu li um tale estranho, velho, oxidado
doubtless eu recordo ainda
tem por muito tempo a luz solar do verão brilhada
em e sobre
vivido pelo river-side

 



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