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thanksgiving poem

vinho velho a beber
tempestade
para eu era um conselheiro gaunt, grave
ao longo dos bancos
como um homem despido mim vai
evidenciado no glimmer em seus olhos
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
o amor foi cantado mil maneiras
arched a inundação
porque então, a obrigação nós vê?
este é o arsenal
flores dos bebês

 



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