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sad poem

debajo de la luna de la cosecha
hay una hora del resto pacífico
el cielo
dondeyo encuéntrele
si muero, piense solamente esto en mí
se van los tres, esas hermanas raras
un poeta, tomando el frenillo de su lengüeta
no puedo sentir siempre su greatness
aunque soy poco como todas las pequeńas cosas
ese compańero extrańo vino en mezclar pies
de largo hace, en el claro de luna joven
buena mujer

 



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