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love poems

debajo de la hoja oscura del laurel
tome mis pulseras
raza alto-llevada
algún se quejó al amo
no cuelgue ninguna guirnalda
antes del santo de bronce solemne
tan perdido
no puedo sentir siempre su greatness
solitario y solitario
porqué lo haga
o justo y stately criada, que ojos

 



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