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memorial poem

nunca sabía que la tierra tenía tanto oro
le cuento con
era el otoño del año
bucks negros gordos en un cuarto del vino-barril
una pluma del acero
y como caminamos la hierba fue revuelta débilmente
calma como que segundo verano
el rodillo triste del tambor amortiguado tiene golpe
gaily a través de los campos bailamos

 



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