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
user214256 144.74 97.0%
seagull 115.07 99.6%
user508247 108.76 98.5%
user535474 102.21 97.7%
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moic799 99.95 99.6%
user96891 98.69 98.9%
iseba7486 97.88 97.0%
legend13 96.07 90.2%
john_smith 95.08 100%

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