El vuelo del ganso

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 I stand beneath a cloudy morning sky

staring silently into the abyss.
A pair of stately wings prepares to fly
above the storm, onto the charming bliss.

The goose will soar into the great white north
-though presently it suffers scorching heat-
This foreign land will give me my way forth
as hope and blood with toil and sweat shall meet.

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