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short love poem

nos salões do sono você vagueou perto
fala não bem
a algum os deuses gordos
a noite é escura, e os ventos do inverno
esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
sob a lua da colheita
doce e forte
em e sobre
o pitiful pequeno, desgastado, caras rir
para eu era um conselheiro gaunt, grave
levantou-se e o âmbar era o por do sol no rio

 



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