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son poem

usted está claro
los cielos que eran ashen y sobrio
un pequeño melocotón en la huerta creció
debajo del timón del guerrero
ese año
se van los tres, esas hermanas raras
voy mi manera complacently
vi la primera pera
los días hypocritic
usted piensa, mi muchacho, cuando pongo mis brazos alrededor de usted
la mujer faltó mucho, cómo usted llama a mí, llamada a mí
tristemente hablando
éstos sean

 



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