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sad poem

cuando libertad de su altura de la montaña
cómo es salvaje, cómo bruja-como extraño que la vida debe ser
soplador de vidrio del tiempo
en y de sí mismo
flores de bebés
no del mundo ancho del conjunto
porqué son las cosas que no tienen ninguna muerte
era no para ese olor singular
truely
déme
este tazón de fuente de plata antiguo el míos
oscuro-eyed

 



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