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grandmother poem

raza alto-llevada
vi las nubes entre las colinas
la hija, arte del thou viene morir
simplemente hablando
cómo es salvaje, cómo bruja-como extraño que la vida debe ser
sol y viento y golpe del mar
encima del sur en la rotura del día
trenzado y tejido
en la obscuridad y la paz de mi cama final
quizás no es ninguna materia que usted murió
éstos sean

 



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