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poem for pastors

sono doce em suas sepulturas humble
o relâmpago piscou, e levantou
o oeste velho, o tempo velho
receoso não mais, eu digo
para vir assim logo a isto imaginou a obscuridade
aqueles no superior dizem que o conhecem, terra -- são liars
uma tempestade está montando na maré
caras bonitas, tragical
eu ouvi-me que uma determinada princesa
poderíamos nós mas para saber
um olhar é mas um raio

 



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