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christian poem

ido antes de nosotros
hay aumentos para todas nuestras pérdidas
usted oye la lluvia?
porqué tan es triste mi encantador?
la noche es oscura, y los vientos del invierno
vivido por la orilla
ésta es la canción de la juventud
apenas como mis dedos en estas llaves
no permanezca no más
antes del santo de bronce solemne
y mi nombre es veraz

 



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