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mother poem

déjeme ser triste
brilla la edad pasada, el siguiente con esperanza se ve
soporte aquí por mi lado
mi hijo es muerto y soy persiana que va
ochenta años han pasado, y más
una vida en la onda del océano
cuál era él los motores dichos
claro de luna profundo y blando
encima de los prados ricos con maíz

 



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