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romantic poem

cómo como las estrellas es este el blanco, las caras sin nombre
cuál era él los motores dichos
usted está claro
ésos en el superior dicen que le conocen, tierra -- son mentirosos
mi dolor, cuando ella está aquí con mí
ella oyó a niños el jugar en el sol
dije
aquí miente una señora más hermosa
era el otoño del año
ruédeme abajo por el prado

 



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