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spanish poem

sacudaro mi pelo en el viento de la mañana
de nuestros lugares ocultados
ciudad que no es una ciudad
si había sabido el estrecho una prisión es amor
un destello del oro en gloom y gris
no cuelgue ninguna guirnalda
entre el humo y la niebla de una tarde de diciembre
hace tres años hoy
por completo de rasgones
esposa querida
tome mis pulseras

 



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