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life poetry

si él
la noche es oscura, y los vientos del invierno
debajo de un árbol de la castaña que se separa
debajo de mi ventana en una calle de la ciudad
una tormenta está montando en la marea
allí por la ventana en la vieja casa
ese compañero extraño vino en mezclar pies
quién nombrará el viento
materia de la luna
para entonces fuera
todos esos tesoros que mienten
hace usted oír

 



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