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sorry poem

a neve sussurra sobre mim
filhas do tempo
ainda seu cinza balança a torre acima do mar
bonito
eu vi que vocę hunched e tiritando nas pedras
quando o vento trabalhar de encontro a nós na obscuridade
glass-blower do tempo
se eu morrer, pense somente disto de mim
embora repine do amor, e chafe da razăo
completamente dos rasgos
talvez
quando eu retornei no por do sol
era uma oysterman novo alto
serene da tarde e brilhante verdes

 



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