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wedding poetry

el viejo oeste, el viejo tiempo
en pueda
por las mañanas nube-grises
esté en mí como los humores eternos
soy el viento que duda
esos ojos negros i elogiado una vez tan
algunos de los daños que usted ha curado
hace de largo la luz del sol del verano brillar
apenas como mis dedos en estas llaves
cuando el velo de los ojos se levanta
antes del santo de bronce solemne

 



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