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def poetry

os céus que eram ashen e sober
quem estará nomeando o vento
frequentemente eu penso da cidade bonita
sob a folha dusky do laurel
em algum lugar eu li um tale estranho, velho, oxidado
sobre o rio, no monte
vinho velho a beber
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
acima deles todos, olhando para baixo
ouviu as crianças jogar no sol

 



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