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poetry poem

escute o mar soando
brilha a última idade, o seguinte com esperança é visto
bonito
eu detestei-o
os dias hypocritic
rode-me para baixo pelo prado
quando a noite drifts ao longo das ruas da cidade
assim perdido
eu não queimo nenhum incense
quando os mar-ventos perfuraram nossos solitudes
poderíamos nós mas para saber

 



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