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mom poem

nosotros que estaban parados
glooms de los vivir-robles
los drowses pálidos del día en el occidental empapan
las sombras de las naves
truely
no hay multitud, no obstante está mirado y tendido
el prado se arrastraba
el cuerpo puede confinar
ochenta años han pasado, y más
hace tres años hoy
he oído que cierta princesa
venido abajo en el amanecer de las colinas windless
porqué son las cosas que no tienen ninguna muerte

 



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