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poem for pastors

veio fazer exame de me pela măo
era o outono do ano
cidade que năo é uma cidade
rode-me para baixo pelo prado
olhar além
quando a noite drifts ao longo das ruas da cidade
muito bem, vocę liberais
escute
do assoalho ao teto
poderíamos nós mas para saber
tem por muito tempo a luz solar do verăo brilhada

 



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