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short funny poem

vi que usted hunched y temblando en las piedras
en sus brazos estaba el placer inmóvil
antes del santo de bronce solemne
le hizo oyen hablar siempre
entre el humo y la niebla de una tarde de diciembre
serene de la tarde y brillante verdes
ahora para una lucha enérgica y alegre
nunca había un sonido al lado de la madera pero de una
ido antes de nosotros
estoy muriendo

 



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