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african american poetry

ella oyó a niños el jugar en el sol
ruédeme abajo por el prado
cuando voy de nuevo a la tierra
una pluma del acero
paredes y enorme altos
cómo es salvaje, cómo bruja-como extraño que la vida debe ser
ella era una belleza en los días
fuera de mí indigno y desconocido

 



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