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writing poetry

una tormenta está montando en la marea
fui arriba y abajo de las calles
viejo vino a beber
asustado no más, digo
lo van
cuando el velo de los ojos se levanta
he ganado la raza
ochenta años han pasado, y más
tome mis pulseras
el pequeño lamentable, usado, caras el reír
por el puente grosero

 



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