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birthday poem

él incluso tendría su broma
todos esos tesoros que mienten
como va un hombre desnudo yo
suavemente ahora la luz del día
déjeme moverse lentamente a través de la calle
no permanezca no más
ochenta años han pasado, y más
poca puerta fue alcanzada en el último
claro de luna profundo y blando

 



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