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grandmother poem

materia de la luna
simplemente hablando
flor blanca de la espuma, flor roja de la llama
cómo como las estrellas es este el blanco, las caras sin nombre
cuando el viento trabaja contra nosotros en la obscuridad
en su tienda guardada
ésta es la canción de la juventud
porqué tan es triste mi encantador?
los pasillos de mármol resounding largos
la noche es oscura, y los vientos del invierno

 



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