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This terrible pain builds up every night
For a new pair of wings…
Where will be those who yesterday
Put on my shoulders the insomnia
Of the first hour of dawn!

Day, the knife-sharpener of the gold-scissors,
The steel-daggers and the iron-backs;
Last night I had the wings
And I reached the sky.
But this morning
You arrived with your flute and stone
And your twelve silver-knives.

Then, slowly began cutting the wings.

Juana de Ibarbourou
Unknown translator

subir   poema aleatorio   La rosa de los vientos (1930)   siguiente / next   anterior / previous
Los días y las noches
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