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grandma poem

homem frio stern
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
eu nunca soube que a terra teve assim muito ouro
o pitiful pequeno, desgastado, caras rir
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
eu ofereci-os todo o farewell
quando eu estive escutar, discreetly dumb
seu cabelo bonito
gloom
quando a noite drifts ao longo das ruas da cidade
pouco parque que eu passo completamente
no alvorecer, disse

 



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