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autumn poem

la noche es oscura, y los vientos del invierno
dos filas de coles
oí el viento todo el dia
una milla detrás
qué yo le deben
flores de bebés
ella estalló el vino feroz
no hay multitud, no obstante está mirado y tendido
estoy viejo y oculto
es usted despierto?
amo mi hora del viento y de la luz
usted es hermoso y descolorado
él incluso tendría su broma

 



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