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thanksgiving poetry

eu fui acima e trago as ruas
o ar Ă© como uma borboleta
acima deles todos, olhando para baixo
talvez
raça elevado-carregada
se eu morrer, pense somente disto de mim
quando, cheio do amor morno e ansioso
fora da janela um mar de árvores verdes
nós não éramos muitos

 



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