Libro de poemas - Federico García Lorca

This quote was added by mauribadnights
Viento del Sur, moreno, ardiente, llegas sobre mi carne, trayéndome semilla de brillantes miradas, empapado de azahares. Pones roja la luna y sollozantes los álamos cautivos, pero vienes ¡demasiado tarde! ¡ya he enrollado la noche de mi cuento en el estante!

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user214256 144.74 97.0%
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john_smith 93.90 100%
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