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african american poetry

sacudaro mi pelo en el viento de la mañana
él vino tomarme por la mano
los drowses pálidos del día en el occidental empapan
qué ocasión spiteful roba unawares
vi con los ojos abiertos
hago mi cubierta, pero nadie sabe
en y de sí mismo
estoy parado en el tiempo gris frío
fui arriba y abajo de las calles

 



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