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sad love poem

ruidos que se esfuerzan rasgarse
amé a mujer
ella era una belleza en los días
pero alas, sueños justos
porqué son las cosas que no tienen ninguna muerte
sueño dulce en sus sepulcros humildes
una niebla conducía abajo
glooms de los vivir-robles
ido antes de nosotros
hace tres años hoy
dos filas de coles

 



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