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death poem

hice una pausa el marco abierto
vi que usted hunched y temblando en las piedras
hago mi cubierta, pero nadie sabe
los pasillos de mármol resounding largos
dentro de mi mano sostengo
no hay presa yo de pensamientos pobres
mi alma es un campo arado oscuro
ruidos que se esfuerzan rasgarse
el niño que lanzó lejos la hoja después de la hoja
los días melancólicos han venido

 



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