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thanksgiving poem

cuando miraba en sus ojos
el aire es lleno de amanecer y de resorte
glooms de los vivir-robles
el banquete real fue hecho
dentro de este sepulcro humilde un conqueror miente
no hay multitud, no obstante está mirado y tendido
deje una subsistencia de la alegrĂ­a usted
¡bajo!' tis a la noche de la gala
esos ojos negros i elogiado una vez tan

 



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