.[J. L. Campuzano-C. Cortés-A. De C.]
Son ya las ocho.
El ruido en mi calle es infernal
Perforan la acera
Por cuarta vez ó por quinta ya.
Son como hormigas.
Que buscan comida sin cesar.
La rompen, la cierran
Mañana otra vez vuelta a empezar.
Comienza un nue.
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