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thanksgiving poem

usted piensa, mi muchacho, cuando pongo mis brazos alrededor de usted
amo mi vida, pero no demasiado bien
los cielos que eran ashen y sobrio
le estoy cantando
aunque repine del amor, y rozadura de la razón
revuelva
ella oyó a niños el jugar en el sol
vi la primera pera
su pelo hermoso
en pueda
arqueó la inundación

 



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