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teacher poem

oscilado en la horquilla del profundo
oí el viento todo el dia
hijas del tiempo
me preguntan donde he estado
ahora mientras que están viviendo mis labios
el aire es como una mariposa
el pasar a través de las paredes amontonadas y feas
no hay presa yo de pensamientos pobres
musing, entre la puesta del sol y la obscuridad

 



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