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love poem

déjeme ser triste
no hay presa yo de pensamientos pobres
qué yo le deben
el rodillo triste del tambor amortiguado tiene golpe
dentro de este sepulcro humilde un conqueror miente
y todavía caminaron encendido
una tormenta está montando en la marea
tiene usted el caminar visto a través de la aldea
había tres en el prado al lado del arroyo
el merriment sin fin, absurdo de estrellas
cuando los mar-vientos perforaron nuestras soledades

 



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