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angel poem

vinho velho a beber
são idos os três, aquelas irmãs raras
o oeste velho, o tempo velho
o único punho clenched levantado e apronta-se
perguntam-me onde eu estive
como uma vela branca
nos salões do sono você vagueou perto
estes sejam
os navios estão encontrando-se na baía

 



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