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memorial poem

eu v todas as sagacidades humanas
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
quando os mar-ventos perfuraram nossos solitudes
sono doce em suas sepulturas humble
limps com parar o ritmo doloroso
mundo que muda sob minha mão
o ar está cheio do alvorecer e da mola
mulher boa
ao longo de um river-side
balançado no berço do profundo

 



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