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daughter poem

hasta su ventana del compartimiento
ponemos
mi madre me trenza las rosas mojadas con rocío
ochenta años han pasado, y más
deje el unsaid encantador de las palabras
algunos de los daños que usted ha curado
sueño dulce en sus sepulcros humildes
no puedo ahora decirle
sol y viento y golpe del mar
repentinamente, fuera de maneras oscuras y frondosas

 



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