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anniversary poetry

glass-blower do tempo
eu amo minha vida, mas năo demasiado bem
acima dos prados ricos com milho
esplęndido e terrível seu amor
um pęssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
aqueles olhos pretos i elogiado uma vez assim
um com vocę
sob a lua da colheita
a terra mantem algum ir da vibraçăo
todos quiet ao longo do potomac
como uma vela branca

 



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