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fall poetry

miré sobre el cielo glorioso
buena mujer
ella cojea con parar paso doloroso
era el otoño del año
no se aflija que encima
tenemos ninguna vergüenza?
resido en la montaña de la tabla
no hay presa yo de pensamientos pobres
nunca había un sonido al lado de la madera pero de una
sé no dónde
qué yo le deben

 



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