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autumn poetry

um poeta, fazendo exame do breio fora de sua lingüeta
o ar é como uma borboleta
eu vi a primeira pera
sol e vento e batida do mar
diga-me mais menos ou diga-me mais
bonito
eu vi as nuvens entre os montes
filhas do tempo
conseqüentemente eu não posso
para a verdade, para o amor
os céus que eram ashen e sober

 



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