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acrostic poem

sé lo que usted va a decir
dice de buenas viejas épocas
flor blanca de la espuma, flor roja de la llama
veo todos los ingenios humanos
fuera del profundo y de la obscuridad
una mirada es solamente un rayo
debajo de mi ventana en una calle de la ciudad
se hace el día
suave como la cama en la tierra
el prado se arrastraba
éste es el arsenal

 



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