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acrostic poem

fui arriba y abajo de las calles
por el puente grosero
tristes son que saben no amor
allĂ­ por la ventana en la vieja casa
porqué son las cosas que no tienen ninguna muerte
el niño que lanzó lejos la hoja después de la hoja
cuando libertad de su altura de la montaña
asustado no más, digo

 



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