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grandmother poem

a noite era preta e drear
deixe-me ser sad
eu quero saber onde você vive
não pendure nenhuma grinalda
fala não bem
na meia-noite
pôde tê-lo sabido na mola mais adiantada
diga-me não
com vermelho do sangue dos bordos e coração da pedra
fora da janela um mar de árvores verdes
agora quando meus bordos viverem
flor branca da espuma, flor vermelha da flama
se o slayer vermelho pensar slays

 



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