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sad poetry

deve ir para trás, disse
eu estou morrendo
o que mim lhe devem
ao longo dos bancos
pela ponte rude
três anos há hoje
que possibilidade spiteful rouba unawares
porque o faça sempre carrinho que tirita lá
eu sou uma mulher
pôde tê-lo sabido na mola mais adiantada
aflija-se não para o invisível
acima dos prados ricos com milho
splendor doce

 



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