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grandmother poem

melancolia, azul era
abaixo do helm do guerreiro
um céu que nunca soubesse o sol, a lua ou as estrelas
eu detestei-o
irmĂŁo, eu sou fogo
em todas as coisas nĂŁo faladas de
o prado estava rastejando
eu vi a primeira pera
em uma câmara velha iluminou-se macia
quem ama a chuva
faça os meninos e as meninas vão ainda

 



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