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mother poem

era un oysterman joven alto
ella debe ir detrás, ella dijo
los arcos del puente rojo
déme
suavemente llorando
el prado se arrastraba
antes del santo de bronce solemne
cómo es salvaje, cómo bruja-como extraño que la vida debe ser
el aire es como una mariposa
contra la llama verde del espino-a'rbol
hago mi cubierta, pero nadie sabe
solitario y solitario

 



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