GC7B6M9 ▼
Size:  (virtual)
Autopsicografia
O poeta é um fingidor. Finge tão completamente Que chega a fingir que é dor A dor que deveras sente.
E os que lêem o que escreve, Na dor lida sentem bem, Não as duas que ele teve, Mas só a que eles não têm.
E assim nas calhas da roda Gira, a entreter a razão, Esse comboio de corda Que se chama o coração.
Autopsychography
The poet is a faker Who’s so good at his act He even fakes the pain Of pain he feels in fact.
And those who read his words Will feel in his writing Neither of the pains he has But just the one they’re missing.
And so around its track This thing called the heart winds, A little clockwork train To entertain our minds.
Esta Cache Virtual faz parte de uma versão limitada de Caches Virtuais criada entre 24 de agosto de 2017 e 24 de agosto de 2018. Apenas 4,000 proprietários de cache tiveram a oportunidade de "esconder" uma Cache Virtual. Saiba mais sobre as Virtual Rewards aqui: Geocaching Blog.
This Virtual Cache is part of a limited release of Virtuals created between August 24, 2017 and August 24, 2018. Only 4,000 cache owners were given the opportunity to hide a Virtual Cache. Learn more about Virtual Rewards on the Geocaching Blog.
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