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sad death poem

os corredores de mármore resounding longos
ouviu as crianças jogar no sol
flores dos bebês
eu encho este copo
você diz que você me ama
o que nós fará agora
disse
existir da cisne
não há nenhum rebanho, porém prestado atenção e tendido
minha mãe ensinou-me que cada noite
a noite é escura, e os ventos do inverno
são você acordado?

 



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