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thank you poem

sueńo dulce en sus sepulcros humildes
los arcos del puente rojo
poca puerta fue alcanzada en el último
una sombra gris fina en el borde del pensamiento
aquí cae ninguna luz
ella cojea con parar paso doloroso
la hija, arte del thou viene morir
vi que el dios usted la duda?
a alguno los dioses gordos
flor blanca de la espuma, flor roja de la llama

 



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