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love poem

tristemente hablando
travails de la tierra
flor blanca de la espuma, flor roja de la llama
la hija, arte del thou viene morir
cuando miraba en sus ojos
como ella
déjeme ser triste
si era muy seguro
oscilado en la horquilla del profundo
soporte aquĂ­ por mi lado
un cielo que nunca ha sabido el sol, la luna o las estrellas
y mi nombre es veraz

 



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