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best friend poem

de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
era o outono do ano
irmão, eu sou fogo
todos tragam os anos
ainda seu cinza balança a torre acima do mar
sombras voadas que varrem perto
diga-me
nos salões do sono você vagueou perto
você está desobstruído
se eu morrer, pense somente disto de mim

 



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