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poem for pastors

amigo, que sonrisa ha venido ser
he oído que cierta princesa
no hay presa yo de pensamientos pobres
para entonces fuera
nunca sabía que la tierra tenía tanto oro
burly, humilde-abeja el dormitar
mi hijo es muerto y soy persiana que va
era una diosa ere el mármol me encontró
quién nombrará el viento
en su tienda guardada

 



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