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african american poetry

embora eu sou pouco como todas as coisas pequenas
e ainda andaram sobre
com vermelho do sangue dos bordos e coração da pedra
gaily através dos campos nós dançamos
material da lua
uma névoa estava dirigindo para baixo
em uma câmara velha iluminou-se macia
flor branca da espuma, flor vermelha da flama
vindo para baixo no alvorecer dos montes windless

 



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