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brother poem

las sombras de las naves
no puedo ahora decirle
dice de buenas viejas épocas
un destello del oro en gloom y gris
era el otoño del año
un cielo que nunca ha sabido el sol, la luna o las estrellas
hace de largo la luz del sol del verano brillar
reservado, con reverance, en temor

 



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