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Gacela of the Dead Child

Gacela of the Dead Child

dead on the bank, was an angel of coldness.
Each afternoon the water sits down
Each afternoon in Granada,
and the九_九_藏_書 valley was tumbling with lilies and dogs.
Federico García Lorca
Not a flicker of larread•99csw•comk was left in the air
In my hands violet shadow, your body,
The cloudy wind and the clear wind
when you 九_九_藏_書were drowned in the river.
Not the crumb of a cloud was left in the ground
each afternoon, a child dies.
The dead whttps://read.99csw.comear mossy wings.
when I met you in the caverns of wine.
are two pheasants in flight through the towers,
and chats withhttps://read.99csw.com its companions.
and the day is a wounded boy.
A giant of water fell down over the hills,
Gacela of the Dead Child