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romantic poem

arriba y abajo de él va
mi hijo es muerto y soy persiana que va
no puedo sentir siempre su greatness
al revés, dé vuelta al revés
fuera de mí indigno y desconocido
esos ojos negros i elogiado una vez tan
quién nombrará el viento
aunque soy poco como todas las pequeñas cosas

 



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