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poem

minha mãe ensinou-me que cada noite
da canção e do sonho para ido sempre
não gire sua cabeça
eu não pray para a paz
moonlight profundo e macio
era não para esse cheiro singular
a escuridão rouba os formulários de todas as rainhas
lá pela janela na casa velha
e como poderia você sonho da reunião
aflija-se não para o invisível
embora eu sou pouco como todas as coisas pequenas
eu fui acima e trago as ruas

 



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