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thanksgiving poetry

eu ouvi-os na noite
limps com parar o ritmo doloroso
nas manhãs nuvem-cinzentas
um poeta, fazendo exame do breio fora de sua lingüeta
diz de épocas velhas boas
quando eu for para trás ligar à terra
rosas e ouro
tropeçando acima, caindo para baixo

 



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