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sorry poem

cuál era él los motores dichos
un destello del oro en gloom y gris
por las mañanas nube-grises
estoy muriendo
hasta su ventana del compartimiento
uno con usted
miré sobre el cielo glorioso
en el puerto de York nueva
el aire es como una mariposa
la pienso espléndido justo
hijas del tiempo
tráigame la canción suave

 



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