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footprint poem

nuestros momentos agradables vuelan
contra la llama verde del espino-a'rbol
en el amanecer, él dijo
tristes son que saben no amor
no sea falso
para estos brazos blancos sobre mi cuello
la luz retirada
voy mi manera complacently
quizás no es ninguna materia que usted murió
flor blanca de la espuma, flor roja de la llama
vivido por la orilla
el prado se arrastraba


 



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