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grandmother poem

estes sejam
mas alas, sonhos justos
eu sou fevered
o ar está cheio do alvorecer e da mola
agite
tem por muito tempo a luz solar do verĂŁo brilhada
acima dos prados ricos com milho
eu estou no tempo cinzento frio
quando liberdade de sua altura da montanha
uma sombra cinzenta fina na borda do pensamento
para eu era um conselheiro gaunt, grave
quando as horas do dia forem numeradas

 



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