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modern poetry

en la medianoche
como vela blanca
debajo de mi ventana en una calle de la ciudad
sueño, hermano gris de la muerte
no hay multitud, no obstante está mirado y tendido
déjeme ser triste
tenemos ninguna vergĂĽenza?
con rojo de la sangre de los labios y el corazĂłn de la piedra

 



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