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type of poem

el aire es como una mariposa
le estoy cantando
tengo que decir buonas noches
el niño que lanzó lejos la hoja después de la hoja
pienso a menudo en la ciudad hermosa
melancolĂ­a, azul era
veo todos los ingenios humanos
como águilas en colmo ascendente
debajo de la hoja oscura del laurel
la oscuridad roba las formas de todas las reinas
hace usted no oĂ­r

 



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