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free love poem

as montanhas são povos silenciosos
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
a agonia de ter demasiado poder
minha mãe twines me as rosas molhadas com orvalho
esta é a canção da juventude
como ele de quem espírito na chama do meio-dia
para vir assim logo a isto imaginou a obscuridade
burly, humble-abelha aplanar
desde que eu senti o sentido da morte
são você acordado?

 



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