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daughter poem

para estos brazos blancos sobre mi cuello
soplador de vidrio del tiempo
los pasillos de mármol resounding largos
antes del santo de bronce solemne
suave como la cama en la tierra
el sentarse en su eje de balancín que espera su té
materia de la luna
sobre el río, en la colina
ese ańo
poca puerta fue alcanzada en el último

 



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