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death poem

las montañas son gente silenciosa
expresemos nuestras pasiones más bajas
el amanecer era verde
debajo del timón del guerrero
¡bajo!' tis a la noche de la gala
sobre el río hacen señas a mí
estoy muriendo
aquí cae ninguna luz
usted recuerda
musing, entre la puesta del sol y la obscuridad
hijas del tiempo

 



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