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friendship poems

eighty anos passaram, e mais
até sua janela da câmara
glooms dos viv-carvalhos
acima dos prados ricos com milho
uma milha atrás
dentro de minha mão eu prendo
um céu que nunca soubesse o sol, a lua ou as estrelas
eu ofereci-os todo o farewell
sono doce em suas sepulturas humble
um por um, como sae de uma árvore
nós não éramos muitos
há uma cidade, builded por nenhuma mão

 



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