A Angèle me mandou este poema na caixa postal:Sylvia Plath - Mushrooms Overnight, veryWhitely, discreetly,Very quietly Our toes, our nosesTake hold on the loam,Acquire the air. Nobody sees us,Stops us, betrays us;The small grains make room. Soft fists insist onHeaving the needles,The leafy bedding, Even the paving.Our hammers, our rams,Earless and eyeless, Perfectly voiceless,Widen the crannies,Shoulder through holes. We Diet on water,On crumbs of shadow,Bland-mannered, asking Little or nothing.So many of us!So many of us! We are shelves, we areTables, we are meek,We are edible, Nudgers and shoversIn spite of ourselves.Our kind multiplies: We shall by morningInherit the earth.Our foot's in the door.
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