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halloween poetry

esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
desde que eu senti o sentido da morte
pouca porta foi alcançada no último
quem estará nomeando o vento
aflija-se não para o invisível
eu estou morrendo
tem um espaço livre, loveliness vento-protegido
nas manhãs nuvem-cinzentas
são idos os três, aquelas irmãs raras
muito bem, você liberais
aqueles no superior dizem que o conhecem, terra -- são liars
dê-me a fome
olhe para trás com olhos longing e saiba que eu seguirei

 



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