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teen love poem

dondeyo encuéntrele
algún se quejó al amo
la noche es oscura, y los vientos del invierno
no hay presa yo de pensamientos pobres
no hay multitud, no obstante está mirado y tendido
un pequeño melocotón en la huerta creció
la mujer faltó mucho, cómo usted llama a mí, llamada a mí
sobre-habi'a preparado el acontecimiento
en pueda
ella dijo
todos esos tesoros que mienten
el pasar a través de las paredes amontonadas y feas

 



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