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type of poetry

entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
sono doce em suas sepulturas humble
são você vivo?
eu sou fevered
um por um, como sae de uma árvore
a escuridão rola para cima
serene da tarde e brilhante verdes
o rolo sad do cilindro muffled tem a batida
eu vi-o uma vez antes
splendor doce
vinho velho a beber
sadly falando
há uma hora do descanso calmo

 



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