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mother daughter poem

la nieve susurra sobre mí
ruédeme abajo por el prado
y con el pájaro del tarareo
amo robar un rato lejos
vea, ellos vuelven
glooms de los vivir-robles
y pan del breaketh no más
un pequeño melocotón en la huerta creció
algunos días más ventosos
calma como que segundo verano
la noche era negra y drear
debajo de la luna de la cosecha

 



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