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suicide poem

por las mañanas nube-grises
no puedo sentir siempre su greatness
y cómo podría usted sueño de la reunión
dije, yo he cerrado mi corazón
es verdad que usted dice que los dioses son más uso a usted que hadas
usted oye la lluvia?
los he oído en la noche
en y de sí mismo
ella estalló el vino feroz
no hay multitud, no obstante está mirado y tendido
usted es hermoso y descolorado
todavía trece años

 



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