Celeste es su nombre y grana parecen hoy sus brazos cargados de claveles sin rumbo. Un militar le pide un cigarro, no tiene, pero le da un clavel que él mete en su fusil y así comenzó la primavera.
All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Raquel Castilla.
Published on e-Stories.org on 12/06/2017.
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