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footprint poem

todos se callan a lo largo del potomac
no dé vuelta a su cabeza
ésta es la canción de la juventud
el dulce con el fern y se levantó
¡bajo!' tis a la noche de la gala
una sombra gris fina en el borde del pensamiento
simplemente hablando
mi madre me trenza las rosas mojadas con rocío

 



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