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son poem

todavía trece años
le detesté
se hace el día
el merriment sin fin, absurdo de estrellas
hijas del tiempo
lleno esta taza
el prado se arrastraba
le estoy cantando
se levantó y el ámbar era la puesta del sol en el río
ésta es la nave de la perla
el mirar más allá
la noche es oscura, y los vientos del invierno

 



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