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father poem

ámeme en el último, o si usted no
la oscuridad
flor blanca de la espuma, flor roja de la llama
no hay multitud, no obstante está mirado y tendido
tristes son que saben no amor
déjeme moverse lentamente a través de la calle
soplador de vidrio del tiempo
el amo de destinos humanos es yo
veré una estrella esta noche
por el puente grosero

 



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