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friendship poetry

nós não éramos muitos
traga-me a canção macia
você ouve a chuva?
e pão do breaketh mais
vinho velho a beber
as verdades terríveis estes sejam
o ar é como uma borboleta
algum queixou-se ao mestre
não gire sua cabeça
eu vi com olhos abertos
da canção e do sonho para ido sempre

 



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