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black poetry

los pasillos de mármol resounding largos
no ruego para la paz
sueńo, hermano gris de la muerte
cuál era él los motores dichos
los días endeared a cada MUSE
entre el humo y la niebla de una tarde de diciembre
tengo gusto de ella
como miento cubierto adentro, defendido adentro
debajo de un árbol de la castańa que se separa
oscuro-eyed

 



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