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thanksgiving poem

embora repine do amor, e chafe da razão
o sol está acima
amigo, cujo o sorriso veio ser
não gire sua cabeça
para eu era um conselheiro gaunt, grave
o que era ele os motores ditos
flor branca da espuma, flor vermelha da flama
há uma cidade, builded por nenhuma mão
se eu morrer, pense somente disto de mim
não permaneça não mais
esta bacia de prata antiga de meus

 



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