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black poetry

quién nombrará el viento
soy el viento que duda
poco parque que paso a través
mi madre me enseñó que cada noche
caras hermosas, tragical
cuando voy de nuevo a la tierra
la noche es oscura, y los vientos del invierno
los días melancólicos han venido
usted está claro
nuestros momentos agradables vuelan
pájaros contra el viento de abril
vivido por la orilla

 



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