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inspirational poem

estoy muriendo
los pequeños rezos blancos
no hay presa yo de pensamientos pobres
mi madre me trenza las rosas mojadas con rocío
vi con los ojos abiertos
ruédeme abajo por el prado
tráigame la canción suave
para venir tan pronto a esto imaginaba obscuridad
déjeme moverse lentamente a través de la calle
era el otoño del año
llevo a cabo su corazón
esos ojos negros i elogiado una vez tan

 



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