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teen poems

eu estou morrendo
eu agito meu cabelo no vento da manhã
havia três no prado pelo ribeiro
três anos há hoje
para poder ver cada lado de cada pergunta
eighty anos passaram, e mais
não permaneça não mais
melancolia, azul era
as canções antigas
ainda seu cinza balança a torre acima do mar
esplêndido e terrível seu amor
caras bonitas, tragical
onde deva mim encontre-o
do assoalho ao teto

 



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