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memorial poem

as montanhas são povos silenciosos
eu amei uma mulher
eu vi os archangels em minha maçã-árvore última noite
onde deva mim encontre-o
tropeçando acima, caindo para baixo
a noite era preta e drear
se eu for muito certo
não se aflija que sobre
as canções antigas
deixe um sustento da alegria você
de nossos lugares escondidos
fraco-é voada a canção

 



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