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father poem

mi madre me enseñó que cada noche
cómo es salvaje, cómo bruja-como extraño que la vida debe ser
dentro de mi mano sostengo
los drowses pálidos del día en el occidental empapan
entre el humo y la niebla de una tarde de diciembre
le hizo oyen hablar siempre
a qué una mujer la comparará querida
me pregunto a veces si es realmente verdad
una palabra del vuelo de aquí y allí
todavía su gris oscila la torre sobre el mar
poco parque que paso a través
escuche el mar del sonido

 



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