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sad poetry

y todavía caminaron encendido
pájaros contra el viento de abril
el misterio más oscuro, más extraño
nunca había un sonido al lado de la madera pero de una
un pequeño melocotón en la huerta creció
y como caminamos la hierba fue revuelta débilmente
tenía un sueño y me desperté con él
sueño, hermano gris de la muerte
no hay presa yo de pensamientos pobres
gloom
porqué lo haga

 



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