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short love poem

e enquanto nós andamos a grama foi agitada fraca
as canções antigas
macia agora a luz do dia
dentro desta sepultura humilde um conqueror encontra-se
de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
eu vi a primeira pera
com os olhos meek, marrons
eu sei o que você está indo dizer
cidade que não é uma cidade
sob a lua da colheita

 



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