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baby poem

con su pelo flaying violentamente
cuando volví en la puesta del sol
es usted despierto?
poca puerta fue alcanzada en el último
pero no puedo ahora leerle
se van los tres, esas hermanas raras
levantado de los muertos
entre el humo y la niebla de una tarde de diciembre
le estoy cantando
nunca en toda mi vida
estoy en amor con los altos lugares far-seeing
babylon -- donde voy a soñar


 



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