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baby poem

cuando el viento trabaja contra nosotros en la obscuridad
usted piensa, mi muchacho, cuando pongo mis brazos alrededor de usted
oscilado en la horquilla del profundo
pero no puedo ahora leerle
pensamientos a través de mi cabeza
dentro de este sepulcro humilde un conqueror miente
le detesté
en sus regimentals desiguales
amo las viejas endechas melodious
puesto que he sentido el sentido de la muerte
los cielos que eran ashen y sobrio
antes del santo de bronce solemne

 



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