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child poem

a festa real foi feita
o oeste velho, o tempo velho
do assoalho ao teto
material da lua
havia um momento em anos anteriores
não gire sua cabeça
eu vi-o uma vez antes
o rolo sad do cilindro muffled tem a batida
trançado e tecido
o único punho clenched levantado e apronta-se
uma névoa estava dirigindo para baixo
desolado e solitário
talvez

 



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