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thank you poem

vinho velho a beber
do sol nem das estrelas
eu tenho que dizer good-night
a mulher faltou-me muito, como você se chama me, chamada
esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
uma tempestade está montando na maré
eighty anos passaram, e mais
nos salões do sono você vagueou perto
como nivelar cai
você está desobstruído
não permaneça não mais


 



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