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christmas poetry

él habla no bien
estoy muriendo
qué ocasión spiteful roba unawares
hasta su ventana del compartimiento
ella debe ir detrás, ella dijo
usted dice que usted me ama
una pluma del acero
el sentarse en su eje de balancín que espera su té
cuando el velo de los ojos se levanta
caras hermosas, tragical
ochenta años han pasado, y más
quizás

 



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