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brother poem

glass-blower do tempo
eu estou morrendo
eu vi os archangels em minha maçã-árvore última noite
mundo que muda sob minha mão
eu nunca soube que a terra teve assim muito ouro
jogaram uma pedra, você jogaram uma pedra
havia nunca um som ao lado da madeira mas de uma
a festa real foi feita
meu amor verdadeiro de seu descanso levantou-se

 



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