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death poetry

la mujer faltó mucho, cómo usted llama a mí, llamada a mí
veré una estrella esta noche
en su vuelo
los días melancólicos han venido
estoy parado en el tiempo gris frío
no permanezca no más
hace mil años silenciosos
para mí era concejal gaunt, grave
en la esfera
la nieve susurra sobre mí
un cielo que nunca ha sabido el sol, la luna o las estrellas

 



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