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sad poem

hermoso
mi hijo es muerto y soy persiana que va
como ella
mi alma es un campo arado oscuro
suavemente ahora la luz del día
la tierra guarda cierto ir de la vibración
su pelo hermoso
uno con usted
mi amor verdadero de su almohadilla se levantó
la luz retirada
una sombra gris fina en el borde del pensamiento
fuera de mí indigno y desconocido

 



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