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sad death poem

a algum os deuses gordos
o dia é feito
e como poderia você sonho da reunião
o único punho clenched levantado e apronta-se
se eu morrer, pense somente disto de mim
um céu que nunca soubesse o sol, a lua ou as estrelas
porque
para estes braços brancos sobre minha garganta
travails da terra
em setembro
eu vi a primeira pera

 



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