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prose poetry

el más triste del año
éstos sean
el elevar, como el viento sopló
oscuro-eyed
pero no puedo ahora leerle
para entonces fuera
solitario y solitario
sol y viento y golpe del mar
amigo, que sonrisa ha venido ser
lo van
contra la llama verde del espino-a'rbol
puesto que he sentido el sentido de la muerte

 



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