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spanish poem

a alguno los dioses gordos
revuelva
tiene usted el caminar visto a través de la aldea
he tenido un miedo en mi vida
el prado se arrastraba
debajo de mi ventana en una calle de la ciudad
porqué son las cosas que no tienen ninguna muerte
aunque repine del amor, y rozadura de la razón
estoy muriendo
él incluso tendría su broma

 



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