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romantic poetry

trenzado y tejido
la nieve susurra sobre mí
el pasar a través de las paredes amontonadas y feas
estoy muriendo
mi dolor, cuando ella está aquí con mí
por completo de rasgones
todos esos tesoros que mienten
¡bajo!' tis a la noche de la gala
sé no dónde
porqué entonces, la necesidad nosotros ve?

 



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