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sad death poem

uno por uno, como se va de un árbol
dos filas de coles
¡bajo!' tis a la noche de la gala
pienso a menudo en la ciudad hermosa
ella dijo
ese año
aquí cae ninguna luz
el viejo oeste, el viejo tiempo
a qué una mujer la comparará querida
pájaros contra el viento de abril
para entonces fuera

 



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