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angel poem

estes sejam
duas fileiras dos repolhos
o mais saddest do ano
ainda seu cinza balança a torre acima do mar
deus
se eu for muito certo
balançado no berço do profundo
minha mãe ensinou-me que cada noite
quando os mar-ventos perfuraram nossos solitudes
acima dos prados ricos com milho
nós que estiveram
não se aflija que sobre
e assim vai
amigo, cujo o sorriso veio ser

 



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