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erotic poem

me pregunto a veces si es realmente verdad
el viejo oeste, el viejo tiempo
en sus regimentals desiguales
miré sobre el cielo glorioso
un destello del oro en gloom y gris
mundo que cambia bajo mi mano
amo mi hora del viento y de la luz
no hay presa yo de pensamientos pobres
nunca en toda mi vida
en la medianoche
este tazón de fuente de plata antiguo el míos

 



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