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friendship poems

¡bajo!' tis a la noche de la gala
mi alma es un campo arado oscuro
flor blanca de la espuma, flor roja de la llama
pienso a menudo en la ciudad hermosa
renueve la visión del placer
vivido por la orilla
el niño que lanzó lejos la hoja después de la hoja
en y de sí mismo
venido abajo en el amanecer de las colinas windless
con su pelo flaying violentamente
raza alto-llevada

 



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