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cidade que não é uma cidade
do sol nem das estrelas
havia três no prado pelo ribeiro
de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
eu sou uma mulher
pôde tê-lo sabido na mola mais adiantada
você diz que você me ama
a noite era preta e drear
estourou o vinho feroz
tropeçando acima, caindo para baixo
o prado estava rastejando
as sombras dos navios

 



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