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pumpkin poem

estoy parado en el tiempo gris frío
hay tres maneras de las cuales los hombres toman
pueden hablar de amor en una cabaña
la nieve susurra sobre mí
apenas como mis dedos en estas llaves
el movimiento de su cuerpo es como música
miré sobre el cielo glorioso
no éramos muchos
hasta su ventana del compartimiento
trenzado y tejido
tráigame la canción suave

 



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