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grandma poem

mi madre me trenza las rosas mojadas con rocío
vea que me doy usted
fui arriba y abajo de las calles
una pluma del acero
no permanezca no más
amo mi vida, pero no demasiado bien
en pasillos del sueño usted vagó cerca
en y de sí mismo
en septiembre
suavemente llorando
los pequeños rezos blancos

 



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