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son poem

flor blanca de la espuma, flor roja de la llama
behold yo, en mi chiffon, gasa y malla
vi con los ojos abiertos
estoy viejo y oculto
el pequeño lamentable, usado, caras el reír
no permanezca no más
quién es el corredor en los cielos
el sol está para arriba
las canciones antiguas
en su tienda guardada
musing, entre la puesta del sol y la obscuridad

 



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