O BANCO DO REFORMADO!

                                       Sentado
                                       No banco do jardim,
                                       Está o velho reformado,
                                       De cartas na mão,
                                       Cigarro
                                       Quase apagado,
                                       Lunetas
                                       Meias partidas,
                                       Boca ao lado,
                                       Uma pomba
                                       Que o olha no chão,
                                       Um gato
                                       Com sete vidas
                                       E a morte
                                       Que o vigia
                                       Atrás do arbusto verde,
                                       Pronta para o levar,
                                       Quem sabe
                                       Se ao fim do dia!
                                       Cansado,
                                       Sente-se perdido
                                       E não dorme,
                                       Com medo
                                       De não acordar!
                                       Triste sina
                                        A do reformado!
                                        Mas,
                                        Não tenhas medo amigo,
                                        Porque quero
                                        Ser teu irmão!
                                        Vou evitar
                                        Que um dia,
                                        A pomba levante vôo
                                        E a morte se meta contigo!