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grandmother poem

eu vi os archangels em minha maçã-árvore última noite
a filha, arte do thou vem morrer
eu estive
o doce com fern e levantou-se
pouca porta foi alcançada no último
eu fiz um voto uma vez, um somente
lá pela janela na casa velha
o sol está acima
estourou o vinho feroz
estes sejam
em uma câmara velha iluminou-se macia
balançado no berço do profundo

 



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