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lyric poem

dê-me
abaixo de minha janela em uma rua da cidade
estes sejam
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
há uma hora do descanso calmo
fora da janela um mar de árvores verdes
eu amo minha hora do vento e da luz
com seu cabelo que flaying descontroladamente
o que nós fará agora
agite
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
para a verdade, para o amor

 



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