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thanksgiving poetry

amé a mujer
antes del santo de bronce solemne
travails de la tierra
quizás no es ninguna materia que usted murió
los arcos del puente rojo
los hice una oferta todo el adiós
para mí era concejal gaunt, grave
cuál era él los motores dichos
del sol ni de estrellas
vea, ellos vuelven
ahora para una lucha enérgica y alegre
hombre frío severo
he oído que cierta princesa

 



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