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angel poem

la hija, arte del thou viene morir
los pasillos de mármol resounding largos
amé a mujer
y como caminamos la hierba fue revuelta débilmente
en la tierra silenciosa
no del mundo ancho del conjunto
la oscuridad
pero alas, sueńos justos
oscilado en la horquilla del profundo
cuando era adaptó Londres
nunca en toda mi vida

 



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