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autumn poetry

são idos os três, aquelas irmãs raras
uma névoa estava dirigindo para baixo
as canções velhas
vindo para baixo no alvorecer dos montes windless
em seus braços estava o prazer imóvel
estourou o vinho feroz
quando eu retornei no por do sol
as canções antigas
eu ouvi o vento o dia inteiro
tempestade
porque então, a obrigação nós vê?
encontra-se aqui uma senhora a mais bonita

 



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