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mother daughter poem

por las mañanas nube-grises
dios
lo van
una vez este césped suave
se van los tres, esas hermanas raras
dice de buenas viejas épocas
usted oye la lluvia?
nuestros momentos agradables vuelan
cuál era él los motores dichos
el solo puño apretado levantado y alista
aquí miente una señora más hermosa
estoy parado en el tiempo gris frío
todavía recuerdo sin duda alguna

 



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