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lost love poem

hace usted oír
serene de la tarde y brillante verdes
déme
el niño que lanzó lejos la hoja después de la hoja
encima de los prados ricos con maíz
mi amor verdadero de su almohadilla se levantó
para estos brazos blancos sobre mi cuello
ruédeme abajo por el prado
el existir del cisne
con los ojos mansos, marrones

 



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