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suicide poem

no cuelgue ninguna guirnalda
no hay multitud, no obstante está mirado y tendido
no sea falso
amo mi hora del viento y de la luz
envuelva la tierra en tiempo nublado
usted piensa, mi muchacho, cuando pongo mis brazos alrededor de usted
una tormenta está montando en la marea
venido abajo en el amanecer de las colinas windless
él incluso tendría su broma
la oscuridad

 



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