It finishes it Rosa
The night is my taste.
It rains…
He is cold and it makes wind.
E I write, on the discouragement.
The wind waves to me, In wet leves Of my garden.
E they fly…
Falling, as snowflakes, in me.
E of finishes rose, Black.
That still it lasted Next to me…
They are become free, the petals, That take kisses Of me…
Until you.
Hélio Pereira Banhos
Hélio Pereira Banhos
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