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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 7, Poema 28
He
had
no
bones
to
hold
him,
His
voice
was
like
many
birds
Flying
from
a
big
bush
His
face
was
like
a
wave,
His
fingers,
when
he
moved,
Made
music
like
soft
tunes
In
the
air
He
stayed
for
a
short
time;
Then,
like
a
shy
man,
He
knocked
again
quickly
And
I
was
alone
Nature
uses
yellow
less
often
Than
other
colors
we
see;
She
saves
yellow
for
sunsets,
And
gives
us
lots
of
blue.
She
spends
red
like
a
woman,
Yellow
is
rare
and
special,
She
uses
it
carefully,
Like
a
lover's
words.
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — A2 Inglés | Cuentana