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friend poem

un destello del oro en gloom y gris
tres días los oí afligirse cuando pongo absolutamente
pero alas, sueńos justos
debajo de la luna de la cosecha
mi hijo es muerto y soy persiana que va
ido antes de nosotros
dice de buenas viejas épocas
dondeyo encuéntrele
el sol está para arriba
asustado no más, digo
un pájaro cantó

 



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