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short friendship poem

encima de los prados ricos con maíz
suavemente llorando
de la canción y del sueño para ido siempre
ayer por la noche la Luna Llena puso un paño del blanco
no sea falso
ésta es la canción de la juventud
no hay multitud, no obstante está mirado y tendido
uno con usted
con los ojos mansos, marrones
cuando voy de nuevo a la tierra
estoy viejo y oculto
no puedo ahora decirle

 



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