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love poetry

materia de la luna
vea, ellos vuelven
rompemos el cristal que vino sagrado
la noche era negra y drear
de'bil-se va volando la canción
ella cojea con parar paso doloroso
no hay presa yo de pensamientos pobres
disparando para arriba, cayendo abajo
mi amor verdadero de su almohadilla se levantó
en números mournful
le detesté

 



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