Libro de poemas - Federico García Lorca

This quote was added by mauribadnights
Viento del Sur, moreno, ardiente, llegas sobre mi carne, trayéndome semilla de brillantes miradas, empapado de azahares. Pones roja la luna y sollozantes los álamos cautivos, pero vienes ¡demasiado tarde! ¡ya he enrollado la noche de mi cuento en el estante!

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Name WPM Accuracy
legend13 96.07 90.2%
user837462 93.79 94.9%
contradesitter 93.27 97.0%
john_smith 89.83 99.2%
john_smith 83.53 98.5%
user84487 77.71 92.8%
john_smith 77.10 98.1%
r4gn4r0k 76.25 97.7%

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