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son poem

sacudaro mi pelo en el viento de la mañana
los días hypocritic
por completo de rasgones
cuando volví en la puesta del sol
el aire es como una mariposa
tenemos ninguna vergüenza?
ella puede ser que lo haya sabido en el resorte anterior
la oscuridad rueda hacia arriba
todo mi amor para mi dulce
o justo y stately criada, que ojos
envuelva la tierra en tiempo nublado

 



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