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african american poetry

eu sou velho e cego
o ar está cheio do alvorecer e da mola
eu detestei-o
em seu vĂ´o
eighty anos passaram, e mais
temos nĂłs nenhum shame?
quando liberdade de sua altura da montanha
em seus braços estava o prazer imóvel
deixe um sustento da alegria vocĂŞ
flor branca da espuma, flor vermelha da flama

 



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