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sorry poem

materia de la luna
para estos brazos blancos sobre mi cuello
cuando el viento trabaja contra nosotros en la obscuridad
hay uno que ese i amó una vez tanto
estoy viejo y oculto
el sentarse en su eje de balancín que espera su té
flor blanca de la espuma, flor roja de la llama
la fragancia vino
tráigame la canción suave
travails de la tierra
todavía su gris oscila la torre sobre el mar

 



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