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autumn poetry

eu tenho que dizer good-night
o ar está cheio do alvorecer e da mola
não seja falso
nos salões do sono você vagueou perto
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
quando as horas do dia forem numeradas
de nossos lugares escondidos
com vermelho do sangue dos bordos e coração da pedra
amigo, cujo o sorriso veio ser
cara esposa
em números mournful
melhore do que o granito

 



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