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friend poem

pero alas, sueños justos
y como caminamos la hierba fue revuelta débilmente
dentro de mi mano sostengo
la nieve susurra sobre mí
tenemos ninguna vergüenza?
simplicidad
sobre ellas todas, mirando abajo
nunca sabía que la tierra tenía tanto oro
cuál deseo comentar
porqué son las cosas que no tienen ninguna muerte
este tazón de fuente de plata antiguo el míos
los pequeños rezos blancos

 



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