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sad death poem

la fragancia vino
splendor dulce
travails de la tierra
una historia muy notable esto es
apenas como mis dedos en estas llaves
aquí cae ninguna luz
había tres en el prado al lado del arroyo
todavía su gris oscila la torre sobre el mar
hago mi cubierta, pero nadie sabe
ella oyó a niños el jugar en el sol
hice una pausa el marco abierto

 



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