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sad poem

el aire es como una mariposa
déme
porqué son las cosas que no tienen ninguna muerte
ahora que me he refrescado a usted
las viejas canciones
mi dolor, cuando ella está aquí con mí
estos corazones fueron tejidos de alegrĂ­as y de cuidados humanos
es usted vivo?
era un oysterman joven alto
en y de sĂ­ mismo
felicidad
de largo hace, en el claro de luna joven
soy una mujer

 



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