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thanksgiving poem

al amante apasionado
sacudaro mi pelo en el viento de la mañana
no me quemo ningún incienso
sueño, hermano gris de la muerte
el eliminar, luchando vainly
placeres mediados de y palacios aunque podemos vagar
algunos de los daños que usted ha curado
debajo del timón del guerrero
vea el tentativo
gaily a través de los campos bailamos
todos esos tesoros que mienten

 



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