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sad death poem

a alguno los dioses gordos
se hace el día
y cómo podría usted sueño de la reunión
el solo puño apretado levantado y alista
si muero, piense solamente esto en mí
un cielo que nunca ha sabido el sol, la luna o las estrellas
porqué lo haga
para estos brazos blancos sobre mi cuello
travails de la tierra
en septiembre
vi la primera pera

 



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