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acrostic poem

aquí cae ninguna luz
debajo de la luna de la cosecha
el pequeño lamentable, usado, caras el reír
debajo de la hoja oscura del laurel
una sombra gris fina en el borde del pensamiento
un destello del oro en gloom y gris
apenas ahora
una historia muy notable esto es
raza alto-llevada
la hija, arte del thou viene morir
una tormenta está montando en la marea

 



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