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math poem

las naves están mintiendo en la bahía
para entonces fuera
usted es mi compañero
su cara es justa y lisa y fina
era no para ese olor singular
he ganado la raza
el prado se arrastraba
era el otoño del año
en el frunce de la oscuridad y piden
hace mil años silenciosos
debajo de la luna de la cosecha
la fragancia vino
tormenta

 



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