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fall poem

os corredores de mármore resounding longos
o ar está cheio do alvorecer e da mola
envolva a terra no tempo cloudy
não permaneça não mais
como nivelar cai
dentro de minha mão eu prendo
minha mãe twines me as rosas molhadas com orvalho
havia três no prado pelo ribeiro
quando liberdade de sua altura da montanha
quando o véu dos olhos for levantado
short e doce, e nós viemos à extremidade dela
sob a lua da colheita

 



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