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black poetry

material da lua
paredes e enorme elevados
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
apenas como meus dedos nestas chaves
não há nenhum rebanho, porém prestado atenção e tendido
mas alas, sonhos justos
uplifting, como o vento fundiu
não pendure nenhuma grinalda
esta é a canção da juventude

 



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