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death poem

dondeyo encuéntrele
uno por uno, como se va de un árbol
y con el pájaro del tarareo
las cortinas de la noche caían rápidamente
cuando usted viene esta noche
ochenta años han pasado, y más
tome mis pulseras
cuando las horas del día se numeran
estoy parado en el tiempo gris frío
ido antes de nosotros
le estoy cantando
bucks negros gordos en un cuarto del vino-barril
glooms de los vivir-robles

 



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