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christmas poetry

eu vi os archangels em minha maçã-árvore última noite
trançado e tecido
uma névoa estava dirigindo para baixo
sua cara é justa e lisa e fina
era o outono do ano
minha alma é um campo ploughed escuro
havia nunca um som ao lado da madeira mas de uma
existir da cisne
raça elevado-carregada
vontade você glimmer no mar?

 



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