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grandma poem

musing, entre la puesta del sol y la obscuridad
los arcos del puente rojo
o justo y stately criada, que ojos
por las mañanas nube-grises
el niño que lanzó lejos la hoja después de la hoja
como vela blanca
mejore que el granito
pero alas, sueños justos
vi las nubes entre las colinas
a alguno los dioses gordos
en sus brazos estaba el placer inmóvil
porqué lo haga

 



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