.Uno se despide insensiblemente de
Peque??as cosas lo mismo que un
??rbol en tiempo de oto??o
Muere por sus hojas.
Al fin la tristeza es la muerte lenta
De las simples cosas
Esas cosas simples que quedan
Doliendo en el coraz??n.
Uno vuelve siempre
A los viejos siti.
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