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pumpkin poem

sua cara é justa e lisa e fina
e meu nome é truthful
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
veja, desta moeda falsa dele
passagem através das paredes huddled e feias
meu filho está inoperante e eu sou cortina indo
eu sou cansado de ser amargo e cansado de ser sábio
quando o vento trabalhar de encontro a nós na obscuridade
dentro de minha mão eu prendo

 



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