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african american poetry

estoy viejo y oculto
el aire es lleno de amanecer y de resorte
le detesté
en su vuelo
ochenta años han pasado, y más
tenemos ninguna vergĂĽenza?
cuando libertad de su altura de la montaña
en sus brazos estaba el placer inmĂłvil
deje una subsistencia de la alegrĂ­a usted
flor blanca de la espuma, flor roja de la llama

 



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