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modern poetry

desde que, se você estiver por meu lado hoje
dentro de minha mão eu prendo
era o outono do ano
você pensa, meu menino, quando eu enrolo meus braços em você
até sua janela da câmara
há uma hora do descanso calmo
minha mãe ensinou-me que cada noite
esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
aqueles olhos pretos i elogiado uma vez assim
nenhuma rapina é mim de pensamentos pobres
duas fileiras dos repolhos
esta é a canção da juventude
caras bonitas, tragical
para eu era um conselheiro gaunt, grave

 



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