.La luz de la tarde venia de ti,
Cuidabas las flores y al viejo jardin.
Yo andaba despacio, simulando no mirar>
Y tu me llamabas y me dabas de tu pan.
Soy pobre del mundo,
Mendigo de Dios,
Manchado de amores,
Ladron de calor.
Y vivo en tu puerta, por robarte un solo mir.
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