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sad love poem

¡bajo!' tis a la noche de la gala
soy el viento que duda
no del mundo ancho del conjunto
no ruego para la paz
dentro de este sepulcro humilde un conqueror miente
cuando usted viene esta noche
he ganado la raza
en la obscuridad y la paz de mi cama final
usted es mi compañero
ruidos que se esfuerzan rasgarse

 



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