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haiku poem

a noite era preta e drear
quem é o corredor nos céus
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
eu nunca soube que a terra teve assim muito ouro
f4-lo ouvem-se sempre de
de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
dentro de minha mão eu prendo
sentar-se em seu balancim que espera seu chá

 



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