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child poetry

por las mañanas nube-grises
he oído que cierta princesa
debajo de un árbol de la castaña que se separa
o justo y stately criada, que ojos
soy el viento que duda
no permanezca no más
esté en mí como los humores eternos
si era muy seguro
la oscuridad roba las formas de todas las reinas

 



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