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sorry poem

hay cualquiera allí
ésta es la canción de la juventud
he echado el mundo
las cortinas de la noche caían rápidamente
fuera de mí indigno y desconocido
dentro de este sepulcro humilde un conqueror miente
por las mañanas nube-grises
la oscuridad roba las formas de todas las reinas
vi las nubes entre las colinas
los poetas dicen
mi alma es un campo arado oscuro
porqué lo haga
esposa querida

 



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