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missing you poem

eu agito meu cabelo no vento da manhã
até sua janela da câmara
são idos os três, aquelas irmãs raras
um gleam do ouro no gloom e no cinza
meu filho está inoperante e eu sou cortina indo
uplifting, como o vento fundiu
embora eu sou pouco como todas as coisas pequenas
eu não queimo nenhum incense
havia um momento em anos anteriores
assim perdido

 



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