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mom poem

as montanhas são povos silenciosos
uma pena do aço
como ela
eu estou no tempo cinzento frio
macio como a cama na terra
a criança que jogou afastado a folha após a folha
eu vi com olhos abertos
o que mim lhe devem
a neve sussurra sobre mim
três anos há hoje
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
sad são que sabem não o amor
como deva mim ajude à direita ao mundo que está indo erradamente

 



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