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limps com parar o ritmo doloroso
para estes braços brancos sobre minha garganta
eu estive pelo casement aberto
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
através do peito aching da terra larga
é ido
frequentemente eu penso da cidade bonita
passagem através das paredes huddled e feias
fala năo bem
os navios estăo encontrando-se na baía
fora da janela um mar de árvores verdes

 



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