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death poem

el mirar más allá
cuando el viento trabaja contra nosotros en la obscuridad
para mirar todo el dia la onda azul encresparse y romperse
resido en la montaña de la tabla
noche misteriosa
dentro de este sepulcro humilde un conqueror miente
simplicidad
el viejo oeste, el viejo tiempo
mi alma es un campo arado oscuro
los drowses pálidos del día en el occidental empapan

 



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