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funny poem

entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
as verdades terríveis estes sejam
f4-lo ouvem-se sempre de
a neve sussurra sobre mim
balançado no berço do profundo
eu faço minha saia, mas ninguém sabe
eu agito meu cabelo no vento da manhã
em sua barraca guardada
a fragrância veio

 



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