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suicide poetry

un pájaro cantó
el amo de destinos humanos es yo
con la puesta del sol
cómo es salvaje, cómo bruja-como extraño que la vida debe ser
este tazón de fuente de plata antiguo el míos
era el otoño del año
estoy parado en el tiempo gris frío
él incluso tendría su broma
ahora que me he refrescado a usted
y como caminamos la hierba fue revuelta débilmente

 



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