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writing poetry

há uma hora do descanso calmo
para eu era um conselheiro gaunt, grave
havia três no prado pelo ribeiro
nas manhãs nuvem-cinzentas
fora do mar sparkling
eu sou cansado de ser amargo e cansado de ser sábio
em todas as coisas não faladas de
o mais saddest do ano
a noite era preta e drear
sob a folha dusky do laurel

 



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