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poem for dad

não gire sua cabeça
dê-me a fome
cante-o outra vez à canção cantado
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
como ela
para vestir o pensamento impetuoso
eu sou o vento que wavers
flor branca da espuma, flor vermelha da flama
eu espero-o
mundo que muda sob minha mão
conseqüentemente eu não posso
em seu vôo
quando eu era um menino na faculdade

 



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