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retirement poem

su pelo hermoso
en el amanecer, él dijo
usted oye la lluvia?
no dé vuelta a su cabeza
para estos brazos blancos sobre mi cuello
dice de buenas viejas épocas
el aire es como una mariposa
hago mi cubierta, pero nadie sabe
se levantó y el ámbar era la puesta del sol en el río
caras hermosas, tragical

 



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