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grandma poem

algunos días más ventosos
con la puesta del sol
quién ama la lluvia
con su pelo flaying violentamente
he ganado la raza
usted recuerda
el prado se arrastraba
envuelva la tierra en tiempo nublado
el amo de destinos humanos es yo
como miento cubierto adentro, defendido adentro
y pan del breaketh no más
allí por la ventana en la vieja casa
ruidos que se esfuerzan rasgarse


 



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