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fall poem

él vino tomarme por la mano
me pregunto donde usted vive
uno por uno, como se va de un árbol
mi hijo es muerto y soy persiana que va
placeres mediados de y palacios aunque podemos vagar
podríamos sino saber
un pensamiento dulce solemne
un pájaro cantó
hay un país por completo del vino
ochenta años han pasado, y más
contra la llama verde del espino-a'rbol
dondeyo encuéntrele
miré sobre el cielo glorioso

 



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