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death poetry

ido antes de nosotros
aunque repine del amor, y rozadura de la razĂłn
sacudaro mi pelo en el viento de la mañana
apenas como mis dedos en estas llaves
el solo puño apretado levantado y alista
nuestros momentos agradables vuelan
soy el viento que duda
todo mi amor para mi dulce
veré una estrella esta noche
sobre el rĂ­o, en la colina

 



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