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mother poem

rode-me para baixo pelo prado
antes do saint de bronze solemn
escute
como uma vela branca
sombras voadas que varrem perto
eu ouvi-os na noite
ao amante passionate
com vermelho do sangue dos bordos e coração da pedra
como selvagem, como bruxa-como estranho que a vida deve ser
uma sombra cinzenta fina na borda do pensamento
eu estou morrendo
nas manhãs nuvem-cinzentas
eu tive um sonho e eu acordei com ele
a mulher faltou-me muito, como você se chama me, chamada

 



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