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child poetry

quizás no es ninguna materia que usted murió
tristemente hablando
una niebla conducía abajo
vea que me doy usted
este tazón de fuente de plata antiguo el míos
vi los archangels en mi manzana-a'rbol ayer por la noche
mi alma va revestida en cosas magníficas
hace tres años hoy
miré sobre el cielo glorioso
ésta es la canción de la juventud


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