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daughter poem

bucks negros gordos en un cuarto del vino-barril
pero no puedo ahora leerle
en pueda
dentro de este sepulcro humilde un conqueror miente
usted recuerda
vea, de esta falsificación de él
como él de quién alcohol en el resplandor del mediodía
de largo hace, en el claro de luna joven
cuando voy de nuevo a la tierra
fui arriba y abajo de las calles

 



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