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autumn poem

ido antes de nós
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
havia um momento em anos anteriores
há uns ganhos para todas nossas perdas
flores dos bebês
os drowses pálidos do dia no ocidental embebem
acima dos prados ricos com milho
melancolia, azul era
o merriment infinito, foolish das estrelas
moonlight profundo e macio
quando o vento trabalhar de encontro a nós na obscuridade

 



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