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poem for dad

hace usted no oír
para mí era concejal gaunt, grave
musing, entre la puesta del sol y la obscuridad
una vez este césped suave
lleno esta taza
había tres en el prado al lado del arroyo
en el puerto de York nueva
las cortinas de la noche caían rápidamente
el pequeño lamentable, usado, caras el reír


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