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christmas poem

un poeta, tomando el frenillo de su lengüeta
o justo y stately criada, que ojos
levantado de los muertos
y como caminamos la hierba fue revuelta débilmente
nuestros momentos agradables vuelan
era no para ese olor singular
ciudad que no es una ciudad
travails de la tierra
estoy viejo y oculto
la oscuridad

 



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