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haiku poem

cuál era él los motores dichos
la hija, arte del thou viene morir
bucks negros gordos en un cuarto del vino-barril
usted es mi compañero
o justo y stately criada, que ojos
escrito en una noche del vuelo
plantemos
qué nosotros ahora hará
su pelo hermoso
envuelva la tierra en tiempo nublado
claro de luna profundo y blando

 



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