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gothic poetry

a festa real foi feita
abaixo de minha janela em uma rua da cidade
eu estou no tempo cinzento frio
pharaoh, rei da terra de Egipto
temos nós nenhum shame?
sentar-se em seu balancim que espera seu chá
de repente, fora das maneiras escuras e frondosas
na terra silenciosa
eu faço minha saia, mas ninguém sabe
algum queixou-se ao mestre

 



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