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kid poem

ella cojea con parar paso doloroso
hijas del tiempo
su cara es justa y lisa y fina
qué yo le deben
ese compañero extraño vino en mezclar pies
nosotros que estaban parados
en el puerto de York nueva
para la verdad, para el amor
todos esos tesoros que mienten
le detesté
aflíjase no para el invisible
ruédeme abajo por el prado
a lo largo de una orilla

 



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