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narrative poetry

la oscuridad rueda hacia arriba
mi madre me trenza las rosas mojadas con rocío
poco parque que paso a través
del sol ni de estrellas
esos ojos negros i elogiado una vez tan
era una diosa ere el mármol me encontró
usted es hermoso y descolorado
porqué entonces, la necesidad nosotros ve?
amo las viejas endechas melodious
con alegría y maravilla

 



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