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era uma oysterman novo alto
são idos os três, aquelas irmãs raras
nossos momentos agradáveis voam
passagem através das paredes huddled e feias
você recorda
havia nunca um som ao lado da madeira mas de uma
havia três no prado pelo ribeiro
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
quando a noite drifts ao longo das ruas da cidade
ainda treze anos
envolva a terra no tempo cloudy
até sua janela da câmara

 



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