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cowboy poetry

hay aumentos para todas nuestras pérdidas
las montañas son gente silenciosa
tome mis pulseras
este tazón de fuente de plata antiguo el míos
hay cualquiera allí
para la verdad, para el amor
la noche es oscura, y los vientos del invierno
no me quemo ningún incienso
el cielo

 



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