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death poetry

era no para ese olor singular
una vez este césped suave
estrella-polvo y luz vaporosa
ayer por la noche la Luna Llena puso un paño del blanco
cuál guarda
en números mournful
para mirar todo el dia la onda azul encresparse y romperse
dos filas de coles
cuando la noche mandila a lo largo de las calles de la ciudad

 



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