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mother poem

sentar-se em seu balancim que espera seu chá
eu sobre-tinha preparado o evento
deixe-nos piedade aqueles de que seja melhor fora do que nós são
há qualquer um lá
eu vi a primeira pera
quem ama a chuva
o pitiful pequeno, desgastado, caras rir
cai aqui nenhuma luz
sol e vento e batida do mar
se eu morrer, pense somente disto de mim
um pensamento doce solemn

 



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