Song
When I was young, the moon spoke in riddles
and the starts rhymed. I was a new toy
waiting for my owner to pick me up.
When I was young, I ran the day to it's knees.
There were trees to swing on, crickets for capture.
I was narrowly sweet, infinitely cruel,
tongued in honey and coddled in milk,
sunburned and silvery ans scabbed like a colt.
And the world was already old.
And I was older than I am today.
(Rita Dove)
Boa noite!
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