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poetry poem

escuche el mar del sonido
brilla la edad pasada, el siguiente con esperanza se ve
hermoso
le detesté
los días hypocritic
ruédeme abajo por el prado
cuando la noche mandila a lo largo de las calles de la ciudad
tan perdido
no me quemo ningún incienso
cuando los mar-vientos perforaron nuestras soledades
podríamos sino saber

 



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