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child poetry

vi los archangels en mi manzana-a'rbol ayer por la noche
materia de la luna
una pluma del acero
claro de luna profundo y blando
y como caminamos la hierba fue revuelta débilmente
si él
usted piensa, mi muchacho, cuando pongo mis brazos alrededor de usted
lleno esta taza
sueño, hermano gris de la muerte
los poetas dicen

 



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