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short love poem

o sol está acima
em sua barraca guardada
como selvagem, como bruxa-como estranho que a vida deve ser
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
o sol pisou para baixo de seu throne dourado
onde deva mim encontre-o
apenas agora
nos salões do sono você vagueou perto
a noite era preta e drear
como deva mim ajude à direita ao mundo que está indo erradamente

 



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