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mom poem

hay una ciudad, builded por ninguna mano
todavĂ­a su gris oscila la torre sobre el mar
sobre el rĂ­o, en la colina
me preguntan donde he estado
hermano, soy fuego
voy mi manera complacently
éste es el arsenal
ésta es la nave de la perla
los arcos del puente rojo

 



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