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black poetry

cai aqui nenhuma luz
a noite é escura, e os ventos do inverno
pela ponte rude
perguntam-me onde eu estive
a chuva sobre, e o ar brilhante
eu ganhei a raça
não gire sua cabeça
o alvorecer era verde maçã
os drowses pálidos do dia no ocidental embebem

 



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