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love poem quote

cuando volví en la puesta del sol
algún se quejó al amo
los días melancólicos han venido
quizás no es ninguna materia que usted murió
entre el humo y la niebla de una tarde de diciembre
porqué lo haga
la hija, arte del thou viene morir
fui arriba y abajo de las calles
un cielo que nunca ha sabido el sol, la luna o las estrellas
no ruego para la paz
mi alma es un campo arado oscuro
aflíjase no para el invisible
ciudad que no es una ciudad

 



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