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teacher poem

hay una ciudad, builded por ninguna mano
aunque soy poco como todas las pequeńas cosas
mi madre me trenza las rosas mojadas con rocío
y todavía caminaron encendido
ponemos
la pienso espléndido justo
dentro de este sepulcro humilde un conqueror miente
asustado no más, digo
hasta su ventana del compartimiento
mi alma va revestida en cosas magníficas

 



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