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acrostic poem

laranjas arrancando nubian azul-pretas
a noite era preta e drear
talvez
o dia é feito
short e doce, e nós viemos à extremidade dela
tempestade
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
bonito
o prado estava rastejando
você ouve a chuva?
dentro de minha mão eu prendo
mulher boa
agora que eu lhe esfriei

 



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