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funeral poem

me pregunto a veces si es realmente verdad
ruédeme abajo por el prado
suavemente llorando
musing, entre la puesta del sol y la obscuridad
tiene usted el caminar visto a través de la aldea
a través del pecho de dolor de la amplia tierra
ese compañero extraño vino en mezclar pies
cuando los mar-vientos perforaron nuestras soledades
no hay escape al lado del río
las sombras ponen a lo largo de broadway

 



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