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love poetry

la hija, arte del thou viene morir
lo vi una vez antes
mi hijo es muerto y soy persiana que va
soporte aquí por mi lado
fuera de mí indigno y desconocido
hay cualquiera allí
el aire es como una mariposa
ella cojea con parar paso doloroso
en pasillos del sueño usted vagó cerca
estoy muriendo
vi las nubes entre las colinas
viejo vino a beber

 



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