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sex poem

si el asesino rojo piensa él mata
cuando las horas del día se numeran
hace de largo la luz del sol del verano brillar
fuera del mar chispeante
puesto que he sentido el sentido de la muerte
uno por uno, como se va de un árbol
porqué entonces, la necesidad nosotros ve?
todavía su gris oscila la torre sobre el mar
nosotros que estaban parados
nobleza de la muerte otra vez

 



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