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angel poem

talvez
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
truely
rode-me para baixo pelo prado
melancolia, azul era
há uns ganhos para todas nossas perdas
acima deles todos, olhando para baixo
o céu
esse companheiro estranho veio em baralhar os pés
eu quero saber onde você vive
quando uma ação for feita para a liberdade
os poetas dizem

 



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