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grandmother poem

mas alas, sonhos justos
a criança que jogou afastado a folha após a folha
pôde tę-lo sabido na mola mais adiantada
abaixo de minha janela em uma rua da cidade
eu ando abaixo os trajetos do jardim
seja paciente, vida, quando o amor está na porta
os drowses pálidos do dia no ocidental embebem
eu sou o vento que wavers
eu tenho que dizer good-night

 



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