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love poetry chat

flores dos bebês
sono doce em suas sepulturas humble
para prestar atenção o dia inteiro à onda azul ondular e quebrar
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
têm você ouvido
a terra mantem algum ir da vibração
em números mournful
porque assim sad meu encantador?
de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore

 



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