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mejore que el granito
le cuento con
nunca haba un sonido al lado de la madera pero de una
el prado se arrastraba
la lluvia encima, y el aire brillante
vivido por la orilla
sombras coas alas que barren cerca
cuando los mar-vientos perforaron nuestras soledades
hijas del tiempo
ido antes de nosotros

 



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