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cowboy poetry

nós que estiveram
não seja falso
dentro desta sepultura humilde um conqueror encontra-se
as máscaras da noite estavam caindo rapidamente
o doce com fern e levantou-se
havia três no prado pelo ribeiro
eu agito meu cabelo no vento da manhã
eu sou velho e cego
eu ouvi-os na noite
que possibilidade spiteful rouba unawares
short e doce, e nós viemos à extremidade dela
a luz retirada

 



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