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funeral poem

mundo que muda sob minha mão
sombras voadas que varrem perto
pouca porta foi alcançada no último
lá pela janela na casa velha
o cheiro do levantou-se assim falso, os espinhos assim verdadeiros
e com o pássaro humming
do sol nem das estrelas
conseqüentemente eu não posso
o relâmpago piscou, e levantou

 



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