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concrete poetry

o dia é feito
minha mãe twines me as rosas molhadas com orvalho
desde que eu senti o sentido da morte
mas alas, sonhos justos
em todas as coisas não faladas de
eu gosto d
é frequentemente não assim?
é verdadeiro que você diz que os deuses lhe são mais uso do que fairies
eu nunca soube que a terra teve assim muito ouro
nós quebramos o vidro cujo vinho sacred

 



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