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teenage love poem

una sombra gris fina en el borde del pensamiento
serene de la tarde y brillante verdes
quién nombrará el viento
a alguno los dioses gordos
en todas las cosas no habladas de
la pienso espléndido justo
mi madre me trenza las rosas mojadas con rocío
algún se quejó al amo
voy mi manera complacently
truely

 



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