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un poeta, tomando el frenillo de su lengüeta
le hizo oyen hablar siempre
disparando para arriba, cayendo abajo
sacudaro mi pelo en el viento de la mañana
nosotros que estaban parados
hace usted oír
se levantó y el ámbar era la puesta del sol en el río
serene de la tarde y brillante verdes

 



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