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poem for pastors

nobility da morte outra vez
há uns ganhos para todas nossas perdas
quando os mar-ventos perfuraram nossos solitudes
quando eu olhei em seus olhos
não gire sua cabeça
deve ir para trás, disse
splendor doce
como selvagem, como bruxa-como estranho que a vida deve ser
todo meu amor para meu doce
como águias na elevação ascendente
sobre o rio, no monte
escuro-eyed
flor branca da espuma, flor vermelha da flama
a criança que jogou afastado a folha após a folha

 



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