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son poem

a través del pecho de dolor de la amplia tierra
a lo largo de una orilla
hermoso
todos esos tesoros que mienten
en la esfera
el niño que lanzó lejos la hoja después de la hoja
amo mi vida, pero no demasiado bien
disparando para arriba, cayendo abajo
para venir tan pronto a esto imaginaba obscuridad
ruédeme abajo por el prado

 



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