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child poem

desdeño a mis amigos más que usted
en un viejo compartimiento se encendió suavemente
una vez este césped suave
ahora que me he refrescado a usted
antes del santo de bronce solemne
él incluso tendría su broma
su cara es justa y lisa y fina
hay una ciudad, builded por ninguna mano
de piso al techo
todavía su gris oscila la torre sobre el mar
he ganado la raza
no esté enojado con mí

 



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