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grandma poem

teria mesmo seu gracejo
acima deles todos, olhando para baixo
um céu que nunca soubesse o sol, a lua ou as estrelas
o pitiful pequeno, desgastado, caras rir
eu não pray para a paz
para a verdade, para o amor
os dias endeared a cada MUSE
em seus braços estava o prazer imóvel
velas que toppling lateralmente em umas latas do tomate

 



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