𝘈𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘴 𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘯, 𝟷𝟶 𝘥𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘭𝘩𝘰 𝘥𝘦 𝟸𝟶𝟷𝟹.
- 𝗤𝘂𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗼 𝗝𝗶𝗺𝗺𝘆,𝘈𝘤𝘩𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘣𝘳𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘯.
𝘌𝘶 𝘧𝘶𝘪 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘢 𝘩𝘰𝘫𝘦.𝘖𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘮 𝘢̀ 𝘯𝘰𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘯𝘢̃𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘪 𝘵𝘢̃𝘰 𝘣𝘰𝘮! 𝘈 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘫𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘰 𝘯𝘰 𝘪𝘯𝘪́𝘤𝘪𝘰, 𝘮𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢́𝘷𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘯𝘰𝘴 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘳. 𝘗𝘦𝘭𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘢 𝘷𝘦𝘻 𝘦𝘮 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘴, 𝘦𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦 𝘢 𝘦𝘭𝘢 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘩𝘢 𝘮𝘶𝘥𝘢𝘥𝘰 𝘥𝘦 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘪𝘢 𝘦 𝘯𝘢̃𝘰 𝘪𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘢. 𝘍𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘪 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘯𝘢̃𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘪𝘹𝘢́-𝘭𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘩𝘢 𝘯𝘢 𝘴𝘶𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘢. 𝘛𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘪 𝘯𝘢̃𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘳 𝘮𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦 𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘷𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘮 𝘦𝘭𝘢, 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢̃𝘰, 𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢́𝘷𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘴, 𝘦𝘭𝘢 𝘱𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘶 𝘱𝘳𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘣𝘳𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘯. 𝘍𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘻 𝘶𝘮 𝘥𝘪𝘢, 𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦, 𝘱𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘪𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘢 𝘭𝘢́.
𝘌𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘪 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘭𝘢́ 𝘵𝘦𝘮 𝘶𝘯𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘰. 𝘌𝘮 𝘷𝘦𝘻 𝘥𝘦 "𝘱𝘢𝘳", 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘮 "𝘱𝘢𝘩". 𝘌𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘪 𝘭𝘢́ 𝘥𝘰𝘴 9 𝘢𝘰𝘴 14 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘴, 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢̃𝘰 𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘪 𝘶𝘮 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘦́𝘮.
𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘪 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘶 𝘵𝘪𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘢 𝘦𝘮 𝘶𝘮 𝘱𝘳𝘦́𝘥𝘪𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮 𝘶𝘮𝘢 𝘢́𝘳𝘦𝘢 𝘥𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘻𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘳𝘪́𝘷𝘦𝘭 𝘯𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰.
- 𝘔𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘴 𝘵𝘦̂𝘮 𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘰 - 𝘋𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦 - 𝘈𝘭𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘦̂𝘮 𝘢𝘵𝘦́ 𝘱𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘢.
𝘓𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦 𝘦𝘶 𝘫𝘢́ 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘩𝘢 𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘪𝘥𝘰 𝘭𝘢́, 𝘦 𝘦𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘮. 𝘘𝘶𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘦𝘳𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘰, 𝘢̀𝘴 𝘷𝘦𝘻𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘢 𝘯𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰 𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘷𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘥𝘰, 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘦𝘯𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘢𝘷𝘢 𝘢 𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘥𝘦.
𝘌𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘪 𝘴𝘰𝘣𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘥𝘢. 𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘪 𝘴𝘰𝘣𝘳𝘦 𝘰 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘳 𝘥𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘰, 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘩𝘢 𝘮𝘢̃𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘢𝘷𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘢 𝘱𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳.
- 𝘘𝘶𝘦𝘳𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘯 𝘯𝘢̃𝘰 𝘦́ 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘴 - 𝘋𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦 - 𝘕𝘢̃𝘰 𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘢 𝘱𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘥𝘢. 𝘌́ 𝘲𝘶𝘦... 𝘕𝘢̃𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘪. 𝘓𝘢́ 𝘵𝘦𝘮 𝘶𝘮𝘢 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘢. 𝘜𝘮𝘢 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘢 𝘮𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘰𝘢. 𝘘𝘶𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘮 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘮 𝘦𝘮 𝘉𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘯, 𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘦̂𝘮 𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘶𝘭𝘩𝘰. 𝘈̀𝘴 𝘷𝘦𝘻𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘰.
𝘗𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘥𝘰𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰 𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶:
- 𝘉𝘦𝘮, 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘮 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘦́ 𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘩𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘶𝘨𝘢𝘳 𝘥𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘰. 𝘘𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘰 𝘦́ 𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘩𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘮 𝘉𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘯.
𝘌𝘶 𝘰𝘭𝘩𝘦𝘪 𝘱𝘳𝘢 𝘦𝘭𝘢, 𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘭𝘩𝘰𝘴 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘷𝘢𝘮 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦:
- 𝘘𝘶𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘰 𝘦́ 𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘩𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘮 𝘉𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘯. 𝘔𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘴. 𝘉𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘯 𝘯𝘢̃𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘮 𝘷𝘰𝘤𝘦̂.
𝘐𝘴𝘴𝘰 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘻 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘳. 𝘌𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘪 𝘶𝘮 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘫𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘰, 𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘶:
- 𝘉𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘯 𝘯𝘢̃𝘰 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘮 𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘢. 𝘜𝘮 𝘥𝘪𝘢 𝘷𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘥𝘢𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘭𝘢́ 𝘦 𝘵𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘳.
𝘌𝘶 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘻 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘋𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦, 𝘴𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘢 𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘥𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘉𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘯, 𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘩𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘢́, 𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢̃𝘰 𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘩𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘰.
𝘏𝘰𝘫𝘦 𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘩𝘢̃ 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘪 𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘳. 𝘌𝘶 𝘢 𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘪 𝘦 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘫𝘦𝘪 𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘪 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦.
𝘔𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘢̃𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪. 𝘗𝘰𝘳𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘪 𝘦 𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘢 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘲𝘶𝘪. 𝘈𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘢 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘶 𝘷𝘪𝘷𝘰. 𝘈𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘰.
𝘔𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘮 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘰.
𝘼𝙩𝙡𝙖𝙨.
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Poesía" 𝘈𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘰 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘦́ 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘪𝘳𝘢, 𝘯𝘦𝘯𝘩𝘶𝘮 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘦́ 𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘰. " - 𝖡𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗇, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋. ...