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black poetry

ella oyó a niños el jugar en el sol
porqué tan es triste mi encantador?
el amor se ha cantado mil maneras
cuando los mar-vientos perforaron nuestras soledades
tengo que decir buonas noches
el merriment sin fin, absurdo de estrellas
no hay multitud, no obstante está mirado y tendido
fui arriba y abajo de las calles
hice un voto una vez, uno solamente
estoy parado en el tiempo gris frío

 



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