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mother poem

debajo del timón del guerrero
placeres mediados de y palacios aunque podemos vagar
para mí era concejal gaunt, grave
melancolía, azul era
estrella-polvo y luz vaporosa
el movimiento de su cuerpo es como música
la nieve susurra sobre mí
contra la llama verde del espino-a'rbol
pensamientos a través de mi cabeza


 



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