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mom poem

el sentarse en su eje de balancín que espera su té
poca puerta fue alcanzada en el último
como ella
sombras coas alas que barren cerca
cuál guarda
había tres en el prado al lado del arroyo
en la medianoche
un cielo que nunca ha sabido el sol, la luna o las estrellas
sobre ellas todas, mirando abajo
era no para ese olor singular

 



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