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poem for pastors

eu quero saber onde você vive
e ainda andaram sobre
o ar está cheio do alvorecer e da mola
paredes e enorme elevados
o amor foi cantado mil maneiras
uma névoa estava dirigindo para baixo
lá pela janela na casa velha
flores dos bebês
nas manhãs nuvem-cinzentas
esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
o dia é feito
existir da cisne
quietamente, com reverance, no awe

 



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