When I was young my mother would sing to me. she sang sweet and tender melodies, the same that play in my head even now. And every night she would kiss my forehead, wish me all the joy in the world, and turn me over to the night.And as I laid there...

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A mongrel walks politelyThrough the warm summer streetsAn echo of an older timeHe sits and begins to eat-He dreams of days long goneA day once left for himHe sees the ancient photographsOf the way things used to be.And in the daze of morningBeneath a...