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sad love poem

glooms de los vivir-robles
no me quemo ningĂşn incienso
escuche el mar del sonido
ahora para una lucha enérgica y alegre
era un oysterman joven alto
he ganado la raza
él vino tomarme por la mano
una sombra gris fina en el borde del pensamiento
el viejo oeste, el viejo tiempo

 



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