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happy birthday poem

sacudaro mi pelo en el viento de la mañana
las canciones antiguas
poca puerta fue alcanzada en el último
reservado, con reverance, en temor
en septiembre
dentro de este sepulcro humilde un conqueror miente
y como caminamos la hierba fue revuelta débilmente
mi alma va revestida en cosas magníficas
camino abajo de las trayectorias del jardín

 



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