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kid poem

quando as horas do dia forem numeradas
sentar-se em seu balancim que espera seu chá
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
a senhora, seu coração girou para a poeira
o pitiful pequeno, desgastado, caras rir
deixe o unsaid encantador das palavras
pouca porta foi alcançada no último
algum queixou-se ao mestre
eu quero saber às vezes se for realmente verdadeiro
se ele

 



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