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short poem

uma névoa estava dirigindo para baixo
eu năo posso sempre sentir seu greatness
um céu que nunca soubesse o sol, a lua ou as estrelas
eu estive pelo casement aberto
eu ouvi-os na noite
macio como a cama na terra
mas alas, sonhos justos
melhore do que o granito
pôde tę-lo sabido na mola mais adiantada
vocę diz que vocę me ama
o que era ele os motores ditos

 



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