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son poem

minha mãe twines me as rosas molhadas com orvalho
última noite a lua cheia colocou um pano do branco
eighty anos passaram, e mais
não pendure nenhuma grinalda
diz de épocas velhas boas
você está desobstruído
os céus que eram ashen e sober
são idos os três, aquelas irmãs raras
um olhar é mas um raio
em algum lugar eu li um tale estranho, velho, oxidado
os dias melancólicos vieram
os dias hypocritic

 



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