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concrete poetry

a noite é escura, e os ventos do inverno
até sua janela da câmara
o ar está cheio do alvorecer e da mola
eu ouvi o vento o dia inteiro
duas fileiras dos repolhos
sua cara é justa e lisa e fina
três dias eu ouvi-os afligir-se quando eu coloco absolutamente
como ele de quem espírito na chama do meio-dia
quando liberdade de sua altura da montanha
raça elevado-carregada
como ela

 



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