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funeral poem

tengo gusto de ella
lanzaron una piedra, usted lanzaron una piedra
los dĂ­as endeared a cada MUSE
le detesté
está a menudo no tan?
quizás no es ninguna materia que usted murió
encima de los prados ricos con maĂ­z
para mirar todo el dia la onda azul encresparse y romperse
déjeme moverse lentamente a través de la calle

 



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