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epic poetry

tristes son que saben no amor
flor blanca de la espuma, flor roja de la llama
porqué hágale siempre soporte allí que tiembla
por las mañanas nube-grises
paredes y enorme altos
cuando, lleno de amor caliente e impaciente
era no para ese olor singular
tenía un sueño y me desperté con él
ciudad que no es una ciudad
se hace el día

 



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