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famous poetry

la hija, arte del thou viene morir
algunos de los daños que usted ha curado
todavía trece años
he venido en el desierto porque mi alma es athirst
tenían él e i pero satisfecho
la oscuridad roba las formas de todas las reinas
los cielos que eran ashen y sobrio
hay cualquiera allí
resido en la montaña de la tabla
todos esos tesoros que mienten
quizás
miré sobre el cielo glorioso

 



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