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wedding poem

todavía trece años
sueño, hermano gris de la muerte
se levantó y el ámbar era la puesta del sol en el río
para mí era concejal gaunt, grave
ella puede ser que lo haya sabido en el resorte anterior
mi alma es un campo arado oscuro
a lo largo de los bancos
revuelva
sobre ellas todas, mirando abajo
soy una mujer
lleno esta taza
no hay multitud, no obstante está mirado y tendido

 



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