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famous poetry

un poeta, tomando el frenillo de su lengüeta
un cielo que nunca ha sabido el sol, la luna o las estrellas
veo todos los ingenios humanos
ruédeme abajo por el prado
y como caminamos la hierba fue revuelta débilmente
estrella-polvo y luz vaporosa
como vela blanca
qué yo le deben
y pan del breaketh no más
la medianoche pasada
la oscuridad
le estoy cantando

 



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