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retirement poem

serene de la tarde y brillante verdes
debajo de la luna de la cosecha
en alguna parte leí un cuento extraño, viejo, oxidado
el amanecer era verde
travails de la tierra
sé no dónde
si muero, piense solamente esto en mĂ­
el mirar más allá
cuál guarda
hace mil años silenciosos
mi madre me trenza las rosas mojadas con rocĂ­o
estoy viejo y oculto

 



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