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birthday poetry

era el otoño del año
tristes son que saben no amor
no del mundo ancho del conjunto
ruidos que se esfuerzan rasgarse
caras hermosas, tragical
dígame no
rompemos el cristal que vino sagrado
todavía su gris oscila la torre sobre el mar
dulce y fuerte
me preguntan donde he estado
él incluso tendría su broma
el prado se arrastraba
oscuro-eyed

 



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