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poetry poem

raza alto-llevada
apenas como mis dedos en estas llaves
el existir del cisne
tristemente hablando
el olor del se levantĂł tan falso, las espinas tan verdades
materia de la luna
la noche era negra y drear
de la canción y del sueño para ido siempre
sueño dulce en sus sepulcros humildes
he sabido el silencio de las estrellas y del mar

 



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