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love poetry chat

este tazón de fuente de plata antiguo el míos
amo robar un rato lejos
soplador de vidrio del tiempo
las estrellas cayeron de cielo
los días melancólicos han venido
sueño, hermano gris de la muerte
un destello del oro en gloom y gris
el cielo
mi madre me enseñó que cada noche
déjeme moverse lentamente a través de la calle
en la obscuridad y la paz de mi cama final
todos esos tesoros que mienten
no cuelgue ninguna guirnalda
llevo a cabo su corazón

 



Poetry news via Google, MSN, and Yahoo!

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  • Why Cuts? (Berkeley Daily Planet)
 

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