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sad death poem

a mulher faltou-me muito, como você se chama me, chamada
eu moldei o mundo
são idos os três, aquelas irmãs raras
dê-me
abaixo do helm do guerreiro
eu sou o vento que wavers
de nossos lugares escondidos
a algum os deuses gordos
nenhuma rapina é mim de pensamentos pobres
ainda seu cinza balança a torre acima do mar
não há nenhum rebanho, porém prestado atenção e tendido

 



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