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funeral poem

no recolhimento da escuridão e pedem
fraco-é voada a canção
não seja falso
eighty anos passaram, e mais
você é bonito e desvanecido
mas alas, sonhos justos
nós colocamos
assim perdido
eu agito meu cabelo no vento da manhã
havia um strangeness em seus bordos
sombras voadas que varrem perto

 



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