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autumn poem

hijas del tiempo
aunque soy poco como todas las pequeñas cosas
aunque repine del amor, y rozadura de la razón
una mirada es solamente un rayo
un poeta, tomando el frenillo de su lengüeta
lo vi una vez antes
ella oyó a niños el jugar en el sol
fuera de la ventana un mar de árboles verdes
he venido en el desierto porque mi alma es athirst
un destello del oro en gloom y gris

 



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