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fall poem

as montanhas são povos silenciosos
eighty anos passaram, e mais
o alvorecer era verde maçã
eu disse, mim fechei meu coração
sol e vento e batida do mar
um pensamento doce solemn
a mulher faltou-me muito, como você se chama me, chamada
você pensa, meu menino, quando eu enrolo meus braços em você
eu espero-o
olhar além
quando eu retornei no por do sol

 



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