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pastor appreciation poem

encima del sur en la rotura del día
una vez este césped suave
amé a mujer
cómo es salvaje, cómo bruja-como extraño que la vida debe ser
cuando la noche mandila a lo largo de las calles de la ciudad
pero alas, sueños justos
quién es el corredor en los cielos
el viejo oeste, el viejo tiempo
ochenta años han pasado, y más
qué yo le deben
veo todos los ingenios humanos
porqué son las cosas que no tienen ninguna muerte

 



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