BEAUTIFUL MAÍRA
It’s autumn
The naked trees escape their arms
to the infinite nothing
Almost winter
We wait for the snow as we waited our souls
And we never, never, never saw
the snow, our souls
We open the bottle to celebrate it
The endless of all
And the red wine brings a kind of fire
We are happy, and warm souls we are
Suddenly, it begins to snow
In Central Park
Paulo Bauler
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