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sister poem

el sol caminó abajo de su trono de oro
para mí era concejal gaunt, grave
oí el viento todo el dia
con los ojos mansos, marrones
raza alto-llevada
para mirar todo el dia la onda azul encresparse y romperse
el sentarse en su eje de balancín que espera su té
mi alma es un campo arado oscuro
cuando, lleno de amor caliente e impaciente
dice de buenas viejas épocas
porqué son las cosas que no tienen ninguna muerte
cuando las horas del día se numeran

 



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