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sister poem

eighty anos passaram, e mais
flor branca da espuma, flor vermelha da flama
eu v todas as sagacidades humanas
última meia-noite
quem estará nomeando o vento
estourou o vinho feroz
o céu
a noite era preta e drear
como selvagem, como bruxa-como estranho que a vida deve ser
sobre o rio, no monte

 



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