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death poetry

ruĂ­dos que strive rasgar
tem um espaço livre, loveliness vento-protegido
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
eu nĂŁo queimo nenhum incense
havia nunca um som ao lado da madeira mas de uma
dentro desta sepultura humilde um conqueror encontra-se
sobre o rio, no monte
trĂŞs dias eu ouvi-os afligir-se quando eu coloco absolutamente
quando eu olhei em seus olhos

 



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