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prose poetry

era o outono do ano
para estes braços brancos sobre minha garganta
eu amo minha vida, mas năo demasiado bem
o movimento do seu corpo é como a música
o mais saddest do ano
eu estou cantando-lhe
para eu era um conselheiro gaunt, grave
năo do mundo largo do todo
o que nós fará agora
um pássaro cantou
em setembro

 



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