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life poem

assim perdido
a chuva sobre, e o ar brilhante
três anos há hoje
porque então, a obrigação nós vê?
em números mournful
quando eu olhei em seus olhos
o ar é como uma borboleta
vinho velho a beber
eu moldei o mundo
olhe para trás com olhos longing e saiba que eu seguirei
eu estou no tempo cinzento frio
rode-me para baixo pelo prado
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro

 



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