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funeral poem

era el otoño del año
dentro de mi mano sostengo
ésta es la nave de la perla
sé lo que usted va a decir
vi la primera pera
una sombra gris fina en el borde del pensamiento
ochenta años han pasado, y más
una vida en la onda del océano
una milla detrás
tenía un sueño y me desperté con él
suavemente llorando

 



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