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lost love poem

escute o mar soando
sono doce em suas sepulturas humble
algum queixou-se ao mestre
eu amo minha vida, mas não demasiado bem
havia três no prado pelo ribeiro
quando o vento trabalhar de encontro a nós na obscuridade
serene da tarde e brilhante verdes
sobre o rio, no monte
o céu
eu encho este copo
sumário em uma noite do vôo

 



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