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thanksgiving poem

viejo vino a beber
la oscuridad
amo mi hora del viento y de la luz
estoy muriendo
de largo hace, en el claro de luna joven
entre las montańas vagué
ella estalló el vino feroz
el sol caminó abajo de su trono de oro
poca puerta fue alcanzada en el último
tenían él e i pero satisfecho
todo mi amor para mi dulce

 



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