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mother poem

en pasillos del sueño usted vagó cerca
mejore que el granito
cuando usted viene esta noche
un pequeño melocotón en la huerta creció
todo mi amor para mi dulce
mi dolor, cuando ella está aquí con mí
poca puerta fue alcanzada en el último
usted recuerda
en la tierra silenciosa
soy el viento que duda
mi madre me trenza las rosas mojadas con rocío
éstos sean
sobre-habi'a preparado el acontecimiento

 



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