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sympathy poem

hijas del tiempo
velas que derriban de lado en latas del tomate
no esté enojado con mí
mi dolor, cuando ella está aquí con mí
dulce y fuerte
un poeta, tomando el frenillo de su lengüeta
no puedo ahora decirle
en pueda
fui arriba y abajo de las calles
para mí era concejal gaunt, grave
por las mañanas nube-grises
gaily a través de los campos bailamos


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