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poem for pastors

flores de bebés
cuando el viento trabaja contra nosotros en la obscuridad
ayer por la noche la Luna Llena puso un paño del blanco
debajo de la luna de la cosecha
el olor del se levantó tan falso, las espinas tan verdades
de la canción y del sueño para ido siempre
me preguntan donde he estado
en y encendido
caído tan
tráigame la canción suave
cuando, lleno de amor caliente e impaciente
era una diosa ere el mármol me encontró
había una época en años anteriores
encima de los prados ricos con maíz

 



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