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mother daughter poem

el niño que lanzó lejos la hoja después de la hoja
veo todos los ingenios humanos
no cuelgue ninguna guirnalda
pero alas, sueños justos
en y encendido
flores de bebés
sobre el río, en la colina
el mirar más allá
aquí cae ninguna luz
vea, de esta falsificación de él
porqué tan es triste mi encantador?

 



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