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short poem

era não para esse cheiro singular
pôde tê-lo sabido na mola mais adiantada
eu estou no tempo cinzento frio
uma vez este turf macio
quietamente, com reverance, no awe
minha mãe twines me as rosas molhadas com orvalho
eu estive pelo casement aberto
sadly falando
ruídos que strive rasgar
ainda seu cinza balança a torre acima do mar

 



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