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family poetry

hermano, soy fuego
ella oyó a niños el jugar en el sol
arqueó la inundación
el viejo oeste, el viejo tiempo
sacudaro mi pelo en el viento de la mañana
sobre el río hacen señas a mí
cuando miraba en sus ojos
este tazón de fuente de plata antiguo el míos
mientras que estaba parado escuchar, discreto mudo
nunca en toda mi vida

 



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