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funeral poem

el olor del se levantó tan falso, las espinas tan verdades
sea paciente, vida, cuando el amor está en la puerta
porqué entonces, la necesidad nosotros ve?
si era muy seguro
tome mis pulseras
soy el viento que duda
arriba y abajo de él va
con los ojos mansos, marrones
este tazón de fuente de plata antiguo el míos
mi alma va revestida en cosas magníficas
era el otoño del año

 



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