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family poetry

quién ama la lluvia
hice una pausa el marco abierto
dentro de este sepulcro humilde un conqueror miente
el rodillo triste del tambor amortiguado tiene golpe
había una época en años anteriores
plantemos
mi madre me enseñó que cada noche
el aire es como una mariposa
el eliminar, luchando vainly
con los ojos mansos, marrones

 



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