.Flor de carne que naces en mÃ
Nutre mis mares, anega mis puertos
Yo no elegà vestir la herida
En el pálpito de mis sentidos
Puedo sentir tu dulce sombra
El barro corriendo por mis venas
Y ahora, tu recuerdo es un joven continente a la deriva, la marea báltica<.>
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