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suicide poem

ao lado de um campo stricken
acima deles todos, olhando para baixo
última meia-noite
minha mãe twines me as rosas molhadas com orvalho
pássaros de encontro ao vento de abril
para estes braços brancos sobre minha garganta
como como as estrelas é este o branco, as caras nameless
eighty anos passaram, e mais
um gleam do ouro no gloom e no cinza
o que era ele os motores ditos

 



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